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Mistaken Paths. 


A NOYEL. 



PHIHADEHPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
1887 . 


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Copyright, 1886, by C. A. Morgan. 






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H|i rsrLREnt\PERSANn["^< lNTERS 




MISTAKEN PATHS. 


CHAPTER 1. 

This is a story from life that I am about to relate to 
you, therefore, in order that you may not be led by me 
to trace the real actors in it, I will call the small 
Western city where it had its beginning, Newbridge, 
instead of by its true name. 

It is a manufacturing city, having many shops, 
foundries, and factories, sending forth thick clouds of 
smoke and soot, that leave their grimy traces wherever 
they fall. 

In an attractive little frame cottage, situated in a 
pleasant portion of the city, just far enough removed 
from the great shops to escape their noise and much of 
their dirt, lived John Patton, a skilled mechanic, and 
his family, consisting of his wife and two daughters. 
This house, together with a snug sum of savings, had 
been bequeathed to him by his father at his death, 
some years before my story opens, and he had imme- 
diately moved to Newbridge from an eastern city, to 
take up his abode in it. On account of his having 
this home, the savings, and a place among the highest- 
paid workmen in the shops, he was looked up to with 

3 


4 . 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


envy and much show of respect by his fellow- workers, 
and was thought particularly favored by Providence 
because his daughters were two of the loveliest girls to 
be seen for miles around. 

Irene, the older, at the beginning of my story just 
past fifteen, was tall, well formed, fair as a summer day, 
with large blue eyes full of changing expression, hair 
of a light golden color, hanging always in a cluster of 
curls about her shoulders almost to her waist, full red 
lips, a perfect mouth, and small round dimples that 
came and went in her cheeks whenever she smiled. 

June, who was ten years younger than Irene, was so 
opposite in appearance that, had you not known, you 
would never have believed they were sisters, even when 
seeing them together. She too was beautiful, but her 
hair was black, her eyes brown, and her complexion 
dark. 

There was, however, one drawback or hinderance to 
John Patton’s enjoyment of these blessings, for even 
with the society of his children, his home, comfortably 
furnished as it was and containing many luxuries which 
his fellow- work men did not possess and could never 
afford, was not a happy one. His wife, who had been 
his helpmeet for years, economizing and saving with 
him all the while, had grown so exacting in every 
way as to make home-life ofttimes unbearable. There 
seemed always to be turmoil and wrangling there. 
She would not permit the comforts they possessed to 
be enjoyed; for instance, the parlor was not used, ex- 
cept when company was present, lest the carpet should 
become worn and faded ; the piano was rarely opened 
lest dust should get inside ; a new dress must not be 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 5 

worn to school by either of the girls so long as they 
had an older one to wear. 

Mrs. Patton never meant to be cruel, though uncon- 
sciously she became so. Seeing the condition of the 
families of those about her whose incomes were almost 
equal to her husband’s, who spent all they had, with- 
out any calculation for the future, taking what pleasure 
and pain such method brought as a matter of course, 
she wished her own condition and that of her family 
to be better, and their future more secure and promis- 
ing. Moreover, she was an ignorant woman, and fond 
of making the greatest display with the least possible 
expenditure. 

Though they had the piano, none of the family could 
play upon it, save Irene, who could only drum out a 
few airs, caught up from the street, the church, or the 
house of a friend. Once, when the instrument had first 
been purchased, she had revelled in the luxury of a 
music-teacher for two successive terms, and her progress 
had been so rapid, and the music and tuition so expen- 
sive, that Mrs. Patton decided that there had been suffi- 
cient instruction and expense for the time, and the 
lessons were stopped, and had never since been renewed. 

Then, though Mrs. Patton’s health was poor, and 
there was quite a large amount of work to be done 
about the house, with the mending and making of 
clothes for the family, washing, ironing, baking, cook- 
ing, and other homely duties of the household, and 
servant hire was very low in Newbridge, she persistently 
performed all these duties herself, with no assistance 
save what she could secure, from time to time, from 
Irene. Once Irene had returned from school on a 
1 * 


6 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


biting cold day in winter, and finding her mother hard 
at work over the wash-tub, said, — 

“ Wliy do you wash the clothes on such cold days, 
mother? Mrs. Carson hires a woman to do her 
washing for only fifty cents.’’ 

^‘The Carsons haven’t a thing they can call their 
own. I do my own washing to keep my children out 
of the poor-house !” Mrs. Patton answered in a sharp 
tone. 

It was always the way, hard work and hard words ; 
no poetry in such a life, no pleasure, no advancement ; 
each hope of something better in the future that 
sprung up in Irene’s breast died in embryo. Some- 
thing was added to the savings each month, but some- 
thing was lost from her hopeful anticipations, looking 
forward to an end of this dull commonplace life, an 
end of economizing and hard work, when the savings, 
the home, and its belongings were to be enjoyed, and 

“ Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.” 

June was never permitted to play‘d catch” and ^Miide- 
and-seek” with children of her own age, because run- 
ning wore out her shoes; and her dresses and clean 
aprons got soiled when she played at keeping house and 
baked mud pies in the sun, and washing them so much 
wore them out sooner. She never had known the 
luxury of a china or wax doll, — they were too easily 
broken ; but every Christmas-time Santa Claus brought 
her a rag baby with a round face and flat head, with 
eyes, eyebrow^s, nose, and mouth marked on its muslin 
face in ink, and having arms without hands and feet 
without toes. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


7 


When the delusion about Santa Claus was removed 
by wiser playmates, Christmas brought only some arti- 
cles of clothing for both girls, that would have been 
furnished just the same, and sometimes earlier, had 
there been no Christmas at all. To be sure, on that 
day they found nuts, raisins, and candies in their stock- 
ings, which they still continued to hang up each year 
for the sake of these very sweets, which never came at 
any other time. 

Both girls attended the public schools. June had 
just entered the primary, when Irene was finishing the 
grammar department. 

John Patton and his wife had never received such 
advantages as were afforded by the excellent schools 
at Newbridge; Mrs. Patton had received instruction 
within the walls of a primitive country school-house, 
where pupils of ages ranging from five to twenty-one 
met in the same room to glean what knowledge they 
might from a school-master who exercised the rod quite 
as much as he did his brains, — perhaps more vigorously 
and with more intelligence, — and who secured a portion 
of his salary by boarding around in the homes of his 
pupils. She had been taken from school early in life 
and sent to learn dressmaking, that thereby she might 
be enabled to earn something towards her own support. 
This fact she was continually recounting to Irene, who 
did not take kindly to work, by saying, — 

“ When I was of your age I was earning my own 
living. IVe never had the advantages that your 
father and me are giving to you.^^ 

John Patton had been apprenticed to a mechanic 
early in life, and the most of his knowledge was gleaned 


8 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


from practical experience in the workshop. It was the 
intention of both parents to send the girls through the 
public schools that they might support themselves 
finally by teaching; yet Mrs. Patton was fond of say- 
ing to her husband, — 

It won’t do no good, John, likely, as they probably 
will get married so soon as they’re ready to teach, both 
of them, after wasting all these good years.” 

There was nothing to do, however, but to speculate 
on the years, so she consoled herself by saying, — 

Irene can’t do nothing about the house any way, 
and won’t learn, so I can’t see as she’s going to amount 
to anything except it’s a teacher any way.” 

One beautiful May morning, the first day of the 
week, Irene was walking towards school in a most 
unhappy frame of mind. The last bell was ringing, 
and, although she had a half-mile to walk and there 
was a penalty imposed for being late, she seemed in 
no haste, but went slowly and hesitatingly onward. 

Had you observed her closely you would have seen 
her draw forth her handkerchief at frequent intervals 
and wipe her eyes hastily, looking about as if to as- 
sure herself that she was unobserved. Had you been 
very near to her, you would have noticed her slight 
frame quivering with agitation, and have discovered 
that the tears were of anger, not of sorrow or distress. 

There had been trouble and conflict at home that 
morning. Irene, like many young girls of her age, 
was excessively fond of reading novels. It had be- 
come almost a passion with her, for as she read of 
beautiful women having fortunes in their own right, 
with money to spend when they wished and as they 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


9 


chose, with carriages to ride in, servants to wait upon 
them, dresses of silks, satins, and velvets, of all de- 
signs and colors, and living in beautiful homes, with 
conservatories filled with flowers, and grand parlors 
and drawing-rooms, that were always open, she would 
become so completely absorbed as to feel almost as if 
she were herself the heroine of whom she was reading, 
— experiencing the same luxuries, pleasures, and com- 
forts. 

On the Friday before she had obtained from a class- 
mate a most fascinating novel. Almost every girl in 
her class had read and talked of it until Irene was 
almost burning with a desire to peruse it. The girl 
who owned it had loaned it to her classmates in ex- 
change for other books ; but Irene had none to offer 
in exchange. They had few books at home, only 
one of which she had ever cared to read. That one 
had been sent by an aunt as a Christmas present to her 
mother a long time before, and was a copy of Byron’s 
poems, a large book bound in bright green cloth with 
staring gold letters on its cover. She had seen it lying 
on the centre-table in the parlor for so long a time, by 
the side of the tall lamp that always stood there, that 
she had come to recognize it as a fixture, and would as 
soon have thought of overturning the table as to have 
moved it from its place. 

One Sunday afternoon her mother had brought it 
out into the room where the whole family were sitting, 
and had read aloud from it in a melancholy tone of voice 
those expressive lines To Tom Moore.” Irene was 
so charmed by the sentiment that many times after- 
wards she longed to read from its pages, and on return- 


10 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


ing from school one day and finding no one at home, 
she had gone into the parlor, taken it up, and finding 
in it other poems as sweet, musical, and interesting, 
became so deeply engrossed that unthinkingly she curled 
her feet, with their dirty shoes, up under her on the 
best hair-cloth sofa, becoming unconscious of everything 
save what she was reading, when the door of the parlor 
suddenly opened with a quick nervous jerk and her 
mother entered. Starting up in terror, she let the book 
fall to the floor, face downward, open at the place 
where she had been reading, which was marked at the 
bottom of each leaf on the white margin by black spots 
where her thumbs and fingers had been. She was given 
several sharp raps on the head, and was sent to bed 
supperless. Such had been her experience with the only 
book they had at home worth reading, and as she dared 
not for a moment think of lending that, she racked her 
brain in vain to devise some other means for procuring 
the coveted novel. 

On the Friday before, however, Alice Jackson, the 
owner of the book, had, of her own accord, offered to 
loan it to her until Monday, if she would, in return, 
assist her a little in the written examination which was 
always given to them on that day, and Irene had joy- 
fully consented. 

As her mother had forbidden her to borrow novels 
or any such trash,’^ as she called them, Irene kept this 
one hidden from her sight, retiring early on Friday to 
begin its perusal in bed. She read late that night. 
All day Saturday, being obliged to assist about the 
housework, she was unable to steal a moment away, but 
at night, on retiring, she read again from its pages, and 


'X 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


11 


stole to her room on Sunday after church and Sunday- 
school, and read Sunday night until the oil gave out in 
the lamp, yet when Monday morning came she had 
neither finished the novel nor studied her lessons for 
the day. 

On Mondays as it was Mrs. Patton’s custom to arise 
at a very early hour, sometimes before daylight, to be- 
gin the week’s washing, she always called Irene earlier, 
to prepare the morning meal, and on this morning, all 
the while she was at work, Irene was seeking to devise 
some excuse whereby she might get an opportunity to 
finish the book. Finally she hit upon one she thought 
would serve her purpose. 

When breakfast was ready, and her mother had come 
in wiping her wet arms and hands on her apron, and 
had taken her accustomed seat behind the coffee-pot, 
Irene, appearing to be seized with a sudden spasm, 
gave a heavy groan, and, placing her hand over her 
stomach, said, in a tone which seemed full of agony, — 

Oh, dear ! I have such a pain right here !” 

Drink some hot coffee and you will feel better,” 
said her mother. 

Oh, dear ! no, I couldn’t eat or drink a thing ! 
I’ll just run up-stairs and lie down a little while, and 
maybe the pain will go away before school-time.” 

All right,” answered her mother. I’ll call you 
in time for school.” And Irene went out of the room 
with agony depicted in every line of her countenance. 

As soon as the door was closed between her and the 
family she hastened to her room, drew the book from 
under the mattress, threw herself upon the bed, and 
was soon engrossed in the closing chapters of the story. 


12 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


So deeply was she absorbed that she did not liear a 
slow firm step mount the stairs and carefully cross the 
hall to the door of her room, but she did hear her name 
spoken in a sharp high tone, and springing up, saw 
her mother standing beside her bed with a bowl of 
steaming herb tea in her hands and her eyes fastened 
upon the book. 

What have you there ?’’ inquired Mrs. Patton, as 
she put out her hand to grasp it. 

You must not take it ! it is not mine, and I must 
return it this morning entreated Irene. 

You borrowed it, after my having forbidden you 
to borrow books exclaimed her mother. “And you 
have lied to me about being sick, and left me slaving 
at my work for you while you lay around like a fine 
lady and read such trash and worthless nonsense as 
that ! Give it here to me ! I’ll teach you not to disobey 
me ! I’ll warrant you won’t borrow any more books 
soon again ! Give it here !” she shouted, as she snatched 
the book from Irene, and turned to leave the room. 

“Oh, mother! mother! what are you going to do 
with it ? Oh, mother ! let me have it ! I promised to 
return it to-day ! Oh, please, — what are you going to do 
with it?” she cried, tears flooding her eyes as she fol- 
lowed her mother down the stairs clinging to her skirts, 
as if to hold her back. Mrs. Patton seemed not to hear, 
as with a firm iron tread that seemed to shake the whole 
house she passed through the hall and sitting-room 
into the kitchen, Irene following close at her heels still 
holding fast to her dress crying and begging her to 
listen. 

“ Oh, mother, hear me ! forgive me ! I’ll never, never 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


13 


do so again ! I’ll never read another story as long as 
I live if you’ll only give this back !” 

Mrs. Patton, unheeding, passed on to the stove. A 
large boiler filled with clothes was sending hot steam 
throughout the house as the clothes boiled up with the 
suds. With one hand she lifted it aside, — there were 
no covers on the stove underneath, and the coals were 
burning brightly. 

Mother !” shrieked Irene in terror, as she now 
divined her mother’s purpose ; but it was too late. 
The book had been dropped on the burning coals, and 
the boiler of clothes set back over it. 

Mrs. Patton, turning towards Irene to add a word 
of admonition for the future, was startled at the look 
that met hers. Irene, whose eyes seemed almost start- 
ing from her sockets, shrieked, — 

I hate you ! Oh, how I hate you !” So loud she 
shouted that her voice grated in her throat, as if she 
could not express her hatred with so feeble an organ ; 
then springing upon her mother, she tried to push her 
against the wall, the stove, anything, she cared not 
what, anything to show her contempt. 

She might as easily have moved the house as to have 
moved that tall, strong, muscular woman. Her fruit- 
less efforts only added to her fury, and in the intensity 
of her anguish she fixed her teeth in the wrist of the 
hand put out to ward her off, fixed them in it deep, 
fiercely, and revengefully ; then, seizing her hat, rushed 
out into the street, quivering like a reed in the wind 
from the intense strain upon her slight frame. So 
now, though the sun was shining and the birds were 
singing, and all nature seemed beautiful and bright, 
2 


14 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


she ^Yas walking along the street, wretched, revengeful, 
and unhappy, not having one feeling of repentance or 
remorse, only hardening her heart against her mother 
more and more each moment. 

If father had only been there, he might have 
saved it for me,” she said to herself, feeling that, 
though he had long ago surrendered his right to direct 
and dictate in home affairs, he might have interceded 
in her behalf on this occasion and turned her mother 
from her purpose. When she tried to think what she 
should say to Alice Jackson, the owner of the book, 
she cried anew and wrung her hands in despair. It 
would never do to tell her that her mother had burned 
it, and she had no means of replacing it. She never 
had any money of her own ; even the necessities of 
school, such as pens, ink, and paper, were only fur- 
nished to her after much importuning on her part and 
a note from the teacher finally, urging the necessity of 
them. 

“ Oh, what shall I do !” she said to herself, vainly 
seeking to decide what present course to pursue. The 
last bell was ringing for school. Frank Kaynor, who 
was driving past, saw her standing there, noted her 
distress, and thinking it might be occasioned by the 
knowledge that she would be late, drew up his horse 
near the sidewalk, saying, — 

“If you will jump in beside me, Irene, I will take 
you to school. I am going that way, and you will be 
late if you walk.” 

Irene started back, and replied, sharply, — 

“ I don’t want you to take me. I don’t care if I 
am late. I don’t intend to go to school ev — er.” The 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 15 

last word was separated by a sob, and she began crying 
as if her heart was breaking. 

Frank Raynor leaped from his carriage and went 
towards her. 

“ What troubles you, Irene?’’ he asked, gently. At 
the sound of his voice her grief grew more intense, 
and the sobs that burst forth shook her very frame. 
Slie could not have answered him if she had wished ; 
besides, she saw a woman across the way standing in the 
door-way of her house staring at her, and another 
woman crossing the street and coming towards her ; so 
she put out her hands, and, impatiently pushing him 
aside, ran as fast as her feet could carry her down the 
street and up another, until she was quite out of sight 
of all of them. 

When she was out of breath she stopped running, 
and walked slowly towards the outskirts of the city. 
Her thoughts were sorely troubled as she attempted to 
map out some course for the future that would not 
necessitate her returning home again. 

I cannot go back to school again without the 
book, — the girls will all look on me with suspicion and 
distrust, and I can never tell them what became of it,” 
she said in distress, again and again, and lingered all 
the morning in and about the woods that skirted that 
part of the town to which she had walked, revolving 
and weighing many wild plans in her thoughts, only 
to cast them aside in the end as impracticable, her im- 
agination all the while being more active than her 
reasoning powers. 

^‘At any rate,” she said at length, ^^one thing is 
certain ; I will never go back home if I have to starve on 


16 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


the streets.’’ She was anxious to convey to her mother 
this decision, thinking that it might stir up some pangs 
of remorse in her breast, so, when it was near noon, 
she retraced her steps to await June’s return from school 
on a corner the child was certain to pass, in order to send 
a message home by her. She had not waited long be- 
fore June, whose class was always dismissed a half- 
hour earlier than the higher grades, was seen approach- 
ing in the midst of a small bevy of school-children. 

June! June!” Irene called out to her from across 
the street. June, turning towards her in surprise, left 
her mates and came running across to where she was 
standing. When she saw the traces of tears on her 
sister’s face, she besought her to tell what troubled her, 
and Irene willingly confided to her the whole story of 
her distress, saying when she had concluded, — 

“ Now, June, I want you to put my best dress and hat 
in the woodshed, in the corner back of the wood-pile, so 
I can slip in by the alleyway and find them easily, for 
I am going away and am never coming back any more.” 
June did not quite comprehend. 

Are you going far away — all alone — and nev — er 
coming back ev — er any more ?” she questioned, with a 
long-drawn emphasis on the words ever” and “ never.” 

Yes, I am going where I won’t have to wipe dishes, 
and be treated worse than a dog, without ever being 
allowed to read or have any pleasure. Run home and 
tell that to mother — maybe she’ll wish she hadn’t 
burned the book — and meet me here as you go to school, 
and let me know what she says.” 

But June lingered. 

Where’bouts are you going ?” she inquired. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


17 


Oh, I don’t knoAV ; that is, I can’t tell just yet ; but 
if you’re real good, and put the dress and hat where I 
have said, and tell mother I am going to go away off, 
and am never coming back, and meet me here again on 
your way to school. I’ll tell you all about it. Now 
make haste.” 

June needed no further urging, but ran with all her 
might homeward. Pretty little June! she had such a 
plump little figure, and her face was like a sunbeam all 
the time. Nothing ever worried her. She had large 
eyes like Irene, but they were brighter and full of mis- 
chief and merriment, her eyelashes were long and sweep- 
ing, and her lips were full, pouting, and very red. Two 
sisters are seldom seen so entirely unlike each other in 
appearance and manners. Nothing that June ever 
wore detracted from her beauty ; everything that Irene 
])ut on seemed unbecoming. June came and went to 
school with a crowd of children about her, of which 
she was the acknowledged leader ; Irene went to and 
fro alone. Nothing troubled June ; everything troubled 
Irene. Irene was always thinking and dreaming ; June 
scarcely thought at all. June would laugh over a cut 
in her finger and run to have her mother tie it up, 
laughing sometimes with tears in her eyes, while Irene 
would complain for hours over a scratch not nearly so 
severe. Irene was always full of cares; June had 
never a care in the world. June was like a diamond, — 
no matter how plain the setting, retaining its lustre and 
brilliancy just the same; while Irene, like a pearl, re- 
quired a fine setting, and suitable light to set forth its 
beauty. June was generous ; Irene was selfish. June 
never thought of advancing in school, while Irene was 
b 2* 


18 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


an earnest student, ambitious to progress rapidly in all 
her studies. 

Many of her classmates envied her success, and oft- 
times besought her to assist tliem ; but she never con- 
sented to do so unless such assistance was paid for in 
some way ; and as envy breeds hatred, her classmates 
grew to dislike her. They never avoided her, but 
simply, as if by common consent, let her alone. 

Irene was a dreamer ; she loved to read and paint, 
having a talent for painting remarkable in one so young. 
She liked to walk through the woods, to gather wild 
flowers, and to be alone, always thinking, and making 
plans for her future. Every new book or story she 
read started a new train of thought in her mind ; for 
she always believed that what she read might happen 
to her in reality, as it had happened to others in fic- 
tion. Life, to her imaginative mind, was full of ro- 
mances such as she read about, and she was at present 
figuring as one of the poor unfortunates in one of 
them. 

To-day with its troubles might be the turning-point 
in her life, so she reasoned. Where she was to go or 
how to continue, however, were perplexing questions 
constantly recurring to her. They disturbed her more 
than ever as she awaited June’s return, because she 
felt the need of carrying out her intention of going 
away, having sent such word to her mother. But, as 
she had no money, she realized that she would be 
obliged to walk and beg as she went along until she 
was out of Newbridge, and thus be no better than a 
common beggar, and the thought annoyed her. If she 
could only get into a rail way -car and be quickly carried 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


19 


away to a distant city, no doubt she would experience 
little difficulty in securing a position as governess 
in some rich man’s family, she thought, never once 
pausing to consider that there might not be any such 
position awaiting her, or that she was too young and 
inexperienced to fill it ; she only realized now that the 
lack of funds was a very serious impediment to start 
out with. Her head ached and she was hungry, having 
sacrificed her breakfast that she might read the ill-fated 
novel. 

Where was she to procure her dinner to-day ? where 
to-morrow? were questions continually presenting them- 
selves, and she grew impatient as she recognized how 
utterly helpless was her situation. The shop-whistles 
were signalling the hour of noon. The men going home 
from their work, they poured out of the shops like 
huge black clouds, separating and spreading about in 
every direction until, becoming more and more scat- 
tered, they finally disappeared. Several passed her 
whom she knew, and nodded cheerily to her. She 
was vexed at their recognition, so she turned aside to 
avoid them. 

Irene ! Irene !” a musical voice called out to her, 
and she heard footsteps behind hurrying to overtake 
her. At another time, in lighter trouble, the voice 
would have been refreshing and most welcome, and 
she would have stopped instantly and turned with re- 
lief to greet her only intimate friend, Minnie Barnes. 
Now it jarred on her, because it was so sweet, and 
seemed so happy, while she herself was so miserable. 
She hurried on, not seeming to hear, anxious to put 
herself out of reach of sympathy, lest she be influenced 


20 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


from her determination to quit home, friends, and 
Newbridge. 

“ Irene ! Irene ! wait a moment !’’ She was obliged 
to stop and turn, there was no other way ; the voice 
was so near it was impossible to pretend not to have 
heard it. The face that greeted hers was wreathed in 
smiles, as she knew it was certain to be before ever she 
looked. 

What is the matter, dear? You have been crying; 
and you were not at school this morning said this 
sweet-voiced friend. 

^^No, I was not at school : I — was ill.” Irene’s lips 
framed the lie unconsciously. 

‘^What was the matter? You don’t look well, 
either,” added Minnie, sympathetically, still smiling. 

Do you expect me to look well when I am sick ?” 
Irene answered, impatiently, vexed at the undercurrent 
of doubt which Minnie’s answer and manner betrayed, 
and which she had frequently noted before in her con- 
versation, the only trait which she disliked in her. 

Oh, no, to be sure not !” answered Minnie, in the 
])olitest manner, and with the softest inflection imag- 
inable; but you are walking away from home.” 

“Yes, I am aware of that; I am going on an 
errand,” was the reply. Minnie waited a moment, 
expecting to be invited to accompany her, and no such 
invitation being extended, added, — 

“ I ought not to have stopped you, perhaps, only I 
wanted to ask if you were, intending to go to the 
church social on Friday night. Mamma will not per- 
mit me to go alone, and I thought you and I could go 
together, and have brother Willie call for us, so we 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


21 


would not have to come home without an escort, — that 
is, if you care to go.” 

I had forgotten all about it ; of course I will go,” 
answered Irene, quickly. Just think, it will be the 
best social of the year ! The union of the young folks 
of the four churches !” 

Yes, I know it will be very pleasant, — what will 
you wear?” The question brought Irene’s thoughts 
back to the present and immediate prospective con- 
dition of her affairs, and she answered despondently, 
with a sigh, — 

“ I don’t know. I will tell you later on in the 
week.” 

You are not well, I am sure you are not, for you 
don’t act a bit like yourself. Do you know, I think 
you are just a lit — tie bit inclined to be cross, too. I 
must leave you now, or I will not have time to eat my 
luncheon before going to school again. Will you be at 
school this afternoon ?” 

No.” 

Well, good-by, then : I’ll stop in on my way home 
this evening to see whether you are any better,” and 
with a parting smile and a graceful little bow Minnie 
pursued her way homeward, leaving Irene, notwith- 
standing her petulance, in a lighter mood than she 
had been in before ; the rosy cheeks, pretty dress, soft 
eyes, gentle voice, smiling face, and pleasant manners 
of her friend having had the effect of a stray sun- 
beam peeping into a damp, barren enclosure, brighten- 
ing and cheering up the sad, lonesome spot on which it 
falls. So do some natures act upon others; so might 
one lighten the burden of another, if they would; if 


22 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


they could only be true, if the help were honest help; 
but the one whose countenance is always wreathed in 
smiles is never to be trusted. I have learned that the 
smile is worn but as a mask to conceal the workings 
of the soul behind it. It leads into pleasant paths and 
betrays ; it lifts a light burden only to cast on a heavier ; 
it is no solace at the time of mourning, and brings no 
cheer at feasting; it covers always self-interest, deceit, 
and treachery. Why should a face be always smiling 
—every life has its sorrows — if the smile be not worn 
to conceal what lies beneath ? 

June was already waiting for Irene when she came 
back again to the place appointed for meeting, excited, 
vivacious, and happy. Irene saw that some new ex- 
citement was controlling her, and before she could speak 
June burst out, — 

“Oh, Irene! Aunt Mollie’s come all the way from 
New York ! and she’s brought me a great big wax doll 
with real hair, and eyes that shut and open, and shoes 
and stockings, and real little hats and bonnets; and, 
oh, she’s come right on the cars, with a silk dress on ; 
and she’s brought something for you, too, — I don’t 
know what : it’s all done up so I couldn’t see !” June 
paused to take breath. 

“What are you saying? When did she come?” 
Irene asked, excitedly. 

“ This morning,” answered June ; “ and mamma’s got 
Julie Metzgar to come and finish the washing, and she’s 
going to stay and be our hired girl while Aunt Mollie 
is here, and we had chicken and jelly for dinner, and 
the silver knives and forks; and how I wish you had 
been there !” 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


23 


What (lid mother say when you told her that I was 
never coming home again Irene inquired, feeling 
regret now because she had been so hasty in sending 
the message. 

Oh, Irene, I forgot to tell her replied June, in a 
regretful tone. But now it won’t make any difference ; 
you’ll have to go home to get wliat Aunt Mol lie has 
brouglit for you, — I forgot about the dress and liat too.” 

^‘Oh, June, how could you?” said Irene, with a sigh 
of relief, however. Did Aunt Mollie ask for me?” 

Yes; and mamma said you had gone to school and 
might not come home at noon-time.” 

Well, run on to school then, June, or you will be 
late.” 

And you will go home, Irene, and see what your 
present is?” queried June, anxiously. 

“ I’ll be obliged to go now, since you did not get my 
things for me,” answered Irene ; and June ran away 
satisfied, while Irene, trying to make herself believe 
that she was compelled to relinquish her plans for the 
future on account of want of monev as well as on ac- 
count of June’s negligence about executing her com- 
mission, but never once thinking that it was because 
of the social and Aunt Mollie’s visit and the present 
she had brought, went back to her home, slipped in at 
the front door without being observed, ran quietly up 
to her room, donned her best gown, combed out her 
tangled curls, making herself as presentable as possible 
before she should come into the presence of her aunt, 
and stole quietly down-stairs in search of her. 


24 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


CHAPTER 11. 

Mes. Bostwick, or Aunt Mollie, as Irene and June, 
and in truth both Mr. and Mrs. Patton, called her, was 
a great personage in the estimation of the Patton family. 
She was Mrs. Patton’s youngest and only living sister, 
at one time a Avoman of rare beauty. She had received 
a better education than her sister in her younger days, 
and was so pretty when a child even, that she was always 
winning hearts, gifts, and service from every one. 

A great European artist, travelling through the States 
one summer, came upon her one day when she was but 
a child, playing with other children of her age on the 
outskirts of a wood. She had a wreath of flowers and 
running vines about her golden curls, and was giving 
orders with great animation to the children about her. 

“ Bring me more flowers,” he heard her command. 
The flowers were proffered by half a dozen eager hands. 
She cast them aside in disdain, saying, ^^This blue will 
not do ; I must have yellow.” She was but seven then. 
This great artist made a sketch of her standing as he 
saAV her there, which he afterwards copied and painted 
almost life-size, and sent to the Salon in Paris. It 
represented the children just as he had seen them, 
offering the flowers which were being rejected ; the 
position and the expression of the central figure the same 
as it had been that day. He called the picture A 
Queen,” and its fame was world-wide. 

Mrs. Bostwick’s beauty had been her greatest attrac- 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


25 


tion, and at the age of sixteen she married a man 
tliirty years her senior, who had been captivated by it. 
He Avas a very wealthy broker, and took his bride to a 
palatial home in New York. 

One child was born of this marriage, a son, who 
had been left to the nurse’s care entirely until he was 
old enough to attend school, where he had been kept 
until his eighteenth year, when of his own accord he 
entered college and began reading law. All the while 
Mrs. Bost wick’s life was spent in society, luxury, and 
idleness. She was the idol of her husband, who 
humored her slightest wish, ignoring her faults, seeing 
and seeming to realize only that she was beautiful. 
She loved to deck herself in becoming and rich attire 
and hear the murmur of admiration that always greeted 
her entry into a drawing-room. She loved also to read 
the praise of her beauty and dress in the society jour- 
nals, — a thorough woman of the world, she was living 
for the world, not for home or domesticity. 

Of late years, however, her beauty was fading. She 
was no longer young ; the natural bloom AA^as leaving 
her cheeks, and if few stray Avrinkles had made their 
appearance in her face. Her health Avas failing, too, 
and her physician had advised a change, — less of late 
hours and society, and more of rest and quiet, — recom- 
mending a sojourn in Colorado for a while. 

She was on her way thither when she stopped at 
Newbridge to pay a visit to her sister, preceding her 
husband on the journey for this purpose, and with no 
Avord to announce her coming. 

Once before she had visited them. Irene remem- 
bered the occasion distinctly. She could never forget 


26 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


the beautiful woman who came among them wlien June 
was born, who stayed three days only, but gave to her 
during that time numerous half-dollars with which to 
purchase sweetmeats. Anxious to see her again, yet 
dreading to approach her mother, she now listened at 
the door of the parlor, then at the door of the family 
sitting-room, and finding all quiet within, cautiously 
turned the knob and entered. 

A delicate perfume pervaded the atmosphere. Some 
one was lying on the sofa at the farther end of the 
room, who turned and looked towards the door as it 
opened. Irene recognized her aunt^s features the mo- 
ment she saw the large blue eyes that were fixed upon 
her, yet was unable to articulate a syllable. The form 
on the sofa lifted itself, and a great cloud of laces and 
ribbons at the same time, saying, — 

‘‘Is this my little Irene in the most musical of 
voices, as she came towards her and entwined her arms 
about her, showering kisses upon her face as she did so. 
Then, stepping back a pace, she scrutinized her care- 
fully from top to toe, adding, — 

“ Why, how you have grown !’’ • 

“Yes,’’ murmured Irene, feeling it nec^sary that 
she should make some response, and not knowing what 
else to say. 

“ And your dress is too short entirely for a girl of 
your age ! Let me see, — you are sixteen, are you not ?” 
“ Fifteen last August,” Irene answered. 

“ Dear me ! and you grow prettier every year ! You 
must take good care of yourself, and you will develop 
into a handsome woman in time.” 

The bundle of lace and ribbons fell back upon the 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


27 


sofa again. The mass of golden hair was lying against 
the homely home-made cushion. Diamonds sparkled 
in the delicate ears and on the fingers of the dainty 
hand ; and the eyes found something to interest them 
in Irene, on whom they were riveted. Sitting down 
in the nearest chair, Irene fell to wondering whether 
she would ever grow to be as beautiful as the woman 
lying there before her. 

Is your school over so early inquired her aunt. 

^‘No; I came home early because — because — ^you 
were here. June told me,’’ answered Irene. 

‘^Dear me, how nice of you. Favette must show 
you how to arrange your hair ; you must not wear it in 
that fashion, it is so unbecoming to you.” 

‘‘Who is Favette?” inquired Irene, tremulously. 

“ Favette is my maid ; she is up-stairs in my room ; 
suppose we go up now and see what she can do with 
that mass of curls.” And springing up at this new 
caprice she led the way, Irene following. They entered 
the spare-room, where part of the contents of a trunk 
were lying about on the chairs and bed, — gloves, ho- 
siery, and handkerchiefs, all exceedingly delicate and- 
fine, and quantities of them. Irene’s eyes sparkled 
with admiration. 

“ Favette, see what you can do with this young lady’s 
hair,” said Mrs. Bostwick, to a young woman kneeling 
before an open trunk. 

“ Yes, madame. How would madame like it dressed?” 

“Any way that will become her; as it is, it is hid- 
eous.” 

“ Will Miss, — the young lady please sit here?” asked 
Favette, placing a chair before the mirror. 


28 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


Miss Irene, Favette ; she is my niece,” Mrs. Bost- 
wick explained. 

“ And like you, madame, the same eyes ; the same 
hair exactly, madame.” 

Mrs. Bostvvick threw herself lazily into a chair where 
she might watch the progress of hair-dressing, and 
offer, occasionally, some slight suggestion, while Irene, 
looking in the mirror, saw her tumbled curling locks 
that had always hung free about her head, knowing no 
bond, save sometimes that of a ribbon which held them 
together in one mass at the back, gathered up on the 
top of her head where they were twisted about in a 
coiling, careless fashion, and pinned in place with stiff 
wire hair-pins ; not a curl to be seen anywhere, save 
where the short locks turned above her forehead. 
She scarcely recognized herself when Favette had 
finished, so changed she appeared. 

Ah, now you look like quite a different person !” 
exclaimed her aunt. Wear your hair always in that 
fashion ; it is much more becoming to you than hang- 
ing about your neck. Then you should wear red ; it 
suits you. I am sorry I brought you blue instead of 
red, so few fair people can Avear red,” she said, as if to 
herself, musing half aloud. Favette,” she continued, 
“ hand me that large package from the bed. There, 
Irene, see, I have brought you this from the city.” 
And tearing open the parcel she tossed a dress-pattern 
of dark blue silk into Irene’s lap. 

Oh ! Oh !” exclaimed Irene. “ Is this for me ? Is 
it really mine?” and her face brightened with a new 
light as a smile broke her features. 

Certainly it is for you ; and there is plenty of it, 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


29 


too. Have it made long enough for you. That 
dress you have on is much too short for one of your 
age.’^ 

“Oh, thank you ever so much; it is just what I 
have been wanting so long. How can I ever thank you 
enough and, in her impetuous way, she threw her 
arms about her aunt’s neck and kissed her over and 
over again. 

“There, there, Irene; don’t disarrange my hair, or 
your own. I’ll tell you, child, if you want to please 
me, wear your hair in that fashion and your dresses 
longer.” She had been holding both of Irene’s hands, 
one in each of her own, as she was talking, and, now 
glancing down towards them, she exclaimed, “ Good 
heavens, child, do wash some of the dirt from your 
hands and clean your finger-nails !” Irene turned to 
leave the room. “ Wash them right here ; you need 
not go out of the room,” added Mrs. Bostwick ; and 
Irene did as she was told. 

Poor little neglected hands, they were always so 
dirty. She noticed them now for the first time, and not 
being able to get the nails clean, took up a pair of 
scissors and was about to cut them off. 

“ Stop ! don’t do that !” exclaimed Mrs. Bostwick, 
who had been following every movement with watch- 
ful eye. “Come here. Do you see my fingers?” 
and she held out her small, white hands with their 
tapering fingers and long shining nails. “ Let your nails 
grow to be like mine and keep them always clean. You 
have pretty little hands, but no one would ever have 
thought so a moment ago, they were so very dirty. 
Keej) your hands clean, and take pains with your hair, 
3 * 


30 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


and when I return from Colorado I may take you 
back to JS’ew York with me.” 

^^When will you return?” inquired Irene, eagerly. 
Oh, I cannot tell just now ; but I will write and let 
you know before I do come, so you may be ready.” All 
the while Mrs. Bostwick was talking, Irene was eying 
the dress wistfully and admiringly; when she had 
finished, she said, timidly, — 

Aunt Mollie, won’t you please ask mother to make 
this dress up for me right away, and make it long? 
She will do it if you ask her.” 

Your mother can’t make that dress, child !” 

‘‘ She makes all of my dresses,” answered Irene. 

No wonder, then, there is no fit to them !” said her 
aunt, impulsively. 

Just at that moment Mrs. Patton’s voice was heard 
calling up the stairway, and Mrs. Bostwick arose and 
went down-stairs immediately, Irene following with the 
dress-pattern in her arms. When she was in her 
mother’s presence, she noticed that her right wrist had 
a bandage about it, and a flush of shame overspread 
her face. Mrs. Patton, ignoring Irene’s presence en- 
tirely, entered into a spirited conversation with Mrs. 
Bostwick. But Irene, not wishing her aunt to know 
of the morning’s episode, determined to act as if nothing 
unusual had occurred, so, advancing towards her mother, 
she laid the silk in her lap, saying, — 

Look, mother, what Aunt Mollie has brought for 
me !” Mrs. Patton looked at the silk without deigning 
a glance even at Irene, and said, — 

Why, Mollie, how could you be so foolish as to 
spend your money in so expensive a dress for a child ?” 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


31 


“Foolish, do you say? Because I wanted to bring 
her something, and I thought that would please her best. 
I do not think I have been foolish ; and you should 
not call her a child, Sarah, — she is a young woman 
now. I was married at her age. You dress her like 
a child, but that does not keep her one ; she should 
never wear her clothes like that were she my daughter,” 
Mrs. Bostwick answered, with much spirit. 

“ Well, Mollie, you are not poor like we are ; you 
can afford to carry out your whims; your husband is 
a rich man.” 

“ Oh, don’t go all over that again. I guess John 
Patton is not so poor but that he can afford to dress 
his family respectably, at least.” 

“Why, Mollie, what are you talking about?” 

“ I am talking about a girl, almost sixteen, going 
about with dresses that scarcely cover her ankles; that 
is what I am talking about. It is a shame and disgrace, 
nothing less !” Mrs. Bostwick was waxing warm, and 
Irene was enjoying the contest. It was a gratification 
for her to know that some one, recognizing her mother’s 
failings, dared to oppose and reproach her in so vehe- 
ment a manner; besides, she knew that all her aunt 
was saying would have a favorable after-effect on her 
mother, although it might not seem to have any now. 
Mrs. Patton had better control over her temper than 
her sister ; her life had been too full of trials and annoy- 
ances that she was obliged to pass over unnoticed, to 
allow this little outbreak to disconcert her. 

“ That dress is a little too short for her, though she 
has had it only a few months, and it was the right lengtli 
when it was new. She outgrows everything so fast it 


32 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


is just impossible to keep her in proper clothes,” she 
said calmly, surveying Irene’s dress as she spoke. 

Lengthen them, then, by adding a ruffle or a pleat- 
ing on the bottom, rather than allow her to show her 
ankles in that fashion just because she happens to grow 
rapidly.” The words were very severe. 

‘‘Well, Mollie,” — Mrs. Patton’s voice trembled and 
tears welled up in her eyes, — “ I do the best I can. I 
have to do the work of the house and make the chil- 
dren’s clothes myself, and I don’t get the time to look 
after everything properly. I am obliged to have some- 
thing else in my hands besides a needle all the time.” 

Irene unconsciously glanced at her mother’s hands. 
She had never noticed before how red and knotted they 
were. The fingers looked hard and stiff in comparison 
with the soft, rosy-tipped fingers of the more fortu- 
nate sister. On the third finger of her mother’s left 
hand a plain, well-worn ring was pressing into the 
flesh. It was her wedding-ring. Long ago she had 
been unable to remove it, her finger having grown so 
much larger from work since it had been placed there. 
In contrasting this with the jewelled rings on the hand 
of the other, Irene fell to wondering whether her 
mother’s hands had once been white and delicate like 
her aunt’s. Mrs. Patton was wiping the tears from 
her eyes, when, repenting the morning’s rash act, and 
thinking only how hard her mother worked all the 
time, while she, the oldest child, was of no help to her, 
only an extra care, Irene, going towards her and putting 
an arm about her neck, said tenderly, — 

“Don’t cry, mother.” Mrs. Patton, appearing to 
take no notice of her caress, went on to say, — 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


33 


And Irene, who ought to be a help to me and able 
to fix her own clothes, as I was at her age, does nothing 
but lie around from morning till night reading novels/^ 
“ Oh, mother, that is not true ! You know I do 
not,’^ said Irene, springing up excitedly. 

How do you dare to contradict me, when only this 
morning you left me slaving at my wash-tub to lie in 
your bed and read some worthless nonsense 

“ Yes, I did, because you will not let me read like 
other girls ; because you won’t allow me books of my 
own; because you won’t even let me read the book 
Aunt Mollie gave you ; and I am obliged to borrow 
what I want to read, and hide what I borrow as if I 
had stolen it. I only wanted to finish reading this one 
book before returning it this morning, when you took it 
from me and burned it !” she shouted. Yes, burned 
it ! and it did not belong to me, and I can never buy 
another to return in its place !” Irene’s eyes were like 
fire in their brilliancy. 

“ Irene ! Irene !” said her aunt, deprecatingly. 

^^I tell you, Mollie, you ought to be thankful you 
have no girls, to repay all your work and labor in 
bringing them up, in this way,” said Mrs. Patton, 
encouraged by her Sister’s interference. 

In this way !” echoed Irene, scornfully. It only 
happened once, — once !” she repeated, in a hard voice. 
“ It will never happen a second time, I give you my 
word now, — for I have done with skulking around like 
a thief for the sake of reading a little from a book, — 
but I will read just the same, I will read just the 
same ! and I’ll sit right down here in a chair, openly, 
and read like any other civilized person, — that I will ! 


34 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


I bit your arm this morning because you burned that 
book, but if you burn another Fll kill you she 
shrieked, and turning, rushed from the room. 

Dear me ejaculated Mrs. Bostwick, as the door 
closed after Irene, letting forth the breath she had been 
unconsciously holding back during this terrific outburst 
of passion. 

That goes to show the result of novel-reading,” 
said Mrs. Patton. Irene used to be of the mildest 
disposition in the world. I sometimes got vexed to 
think that she had no more spirit than she showed ; 
but this morning she amazed me by breaking out in 
such a torrent of abuse that I was dumfounded, and 
can’t account for it in any other way.” 

Sarah, do you remember father’s disposition ? You 
have some of it; so have I; and so, I think, has Irene. 
She has possessed it all along, but you have just aroused 
and discovered it, — subservient almost to any who were 
considerate and kind to him, but like a wild animal 
when an injustice, real or fancied, had been done him. 
What was the book ?” 

I do not know nor care.” 

^^But, if it was not hers, you did wrong to burn it.” 

I knew it was not hers. I burned it so they would 
lend no more to her, knowing what fate awaited them.” 

Well, Sarah, there is no use in arguing with you, 
you won’t listen to reason ; but you will never be able 
to get that turbulent spirit under control again, I fear. 
And, now, you ought seriously to consider the question 
of Irene’s dresses. Lengthen them at all means with- 
out delay. Did you notice how much prettier she 
looks with her hair dressed high ? She is more beau- 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


35 


tiful than I was at her age, and I cauglit a rich hus- 
band and a life of ease and luxury with my beauty. 
Take more pains with her dresses and marry her to 
some rich man.’' 

Irene caught these last words on the other side of the 
door, where she was listening to learn the effect of her 
hasty words, and she ran immediately up-stairs to her 
room and looked long at the reflection of herself in the 
little mirror that hung there. Was she really so 
beautiful, then? Why had she never discovered it? 
why had no one ever told her so before? and why 
had no one ever admired and fallen in love with her 
already? were questions she asked herself. All the 
girls she knew had their sweethearts, yet she had none. 
It must be that her outlandish clothes made her unat- 
tractive : hereafter they should be different, even if she 
had to fix them herself. Thus she resolved as she 
looked at and admired herself in the mirror. 

Seed had been sown on fertile soil : would it bring 
forth wheat or tares ? 


CHAPTER III. 

Irene !” called out Mrs. Bostwick from her room 
the following morning. She had not yet risen, although 
the Patton family had already breakfasted and Irene 
was combing out and arranging June’s hair in the room 
adjoining her aunt’s, preparatory to starting to school. 

What is it?” answered Irene. 

Come in here before you leave for school, I have 


36 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


something to say to you/’ Irene hurried to finish her 
task. Already she had combed up her own hair as 
nearly like Favette had arranged it the day before, as 
her inexperienced hands were able ; and she had found 
a piece of soiled and faded red ribbon, which she had 
washed out and dried, and now wore tied about her 
throat, hoping thereby to improve her appearance. 

My dear,” began Mrs. Bostwick, as soon as Irene 
entered her presence, I was very sorry to hear you 
talk to your mother as you did yesterday.” 

I could not help it; indeed I could not,” murmured 
Irene, hanging her head in shame. 

Promise me that you will do so no more, and I will 
buy you another book to replace the one you borrowed.” 
Irene promised — it is so easy to make a promise — and 
Mrs. Bostwick added, I will call for you after school 
this evening, and we will go together and buy the book, 
and at the same time engage a dressmaker to make up 
the silk, which I brought to you, before I leave here. 
Now run along, or you will be late, and don’t get into 
any more trouble with your mother hereafter, she has a 
hard enough life as it is. Wait ; before you go take 
that faded ribbon from off your neck and open the lid 
of my trunk, you will find a new one somewhere there 
that you may have.” 

Irene, not a little piqued at the failure of what she 
had regarded as a great success, did as she was directed, 
and then, bidding her aunt good-by, hurried away. 

Minnie Barnes was awaiting her below ; and as they 
pursued their way together Irene gave her quite an 
exaggerated account of her aunt’s wealth, her dresses, 
her jewels, her home, her husband, and her maid ;• 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


37 


Minnie listening interestedly, smiling all the while 
during the recital, though there seemed no occasion 
for smiling. 

She was a strange person, this young girl with the 
smiling countenance. She was not pretty, but had 
very attractive manners, being always courteous and' 
polite to every one — the same agreeable person to rich 
and poor, stranger and intimate. Irene, who knew 
her better than any one in Newbridge outside of her 
own family, admired her very much because she was 
so agreeable, was continually saying such pleasant 
things, never grew angry or impatient at anything, 
but seemed always smiling and happy. True, there 
were times when the smile grew tiresome, when it was 
vexing and annoying to her. These were times when 
her own spirit, at war with self or others, sought for 
sympathy in friendly confidence, and failed to secure 
solace or comfort in the heart of one whose face re- 
flected no particle of fellow-feeling. Yet she clung to 
her, being flattered by her attentions, and because there 
was no one else living near lier of whom to make a friend, 
wdiose companionship was either proffered or desired; 
and Minnie Barnes continued to feed Irene’s vanity, 
continued to seek her society, hoping through her to 
make and improve such other acquaintances as she 
might desire in Newbridge. 

She had no affection for Irene such as young girls 
often have for each other, but felt only a selfish sort 
of regard, coupled with a desire to profit and advance 
through her. She saw in her a beautiful girl in humble 
station, yet certain to receive through her rare beauty 
much attention and many opportunities for advancement 

4 


38 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


in society; and, although she was not now popular, 
Minnie trusted, through her own influence over her, 
to induce her to seek popularity, and afterwards, as 
her friend, to share it. 

It was a speculation carefully thought out and delib- 
erated on beforehand, there being no other way appar- 
ent more favorable for making acquaintances. Her 
father’s position in business was far above John Pat- 
ton’s, and ought to have insured for his family social 
prominence in a place like Newbridge; but there were 
ugly stories lurking about that might be unearthed and 
sent broadcast, casting ignominy on the family, should 
they attempt to push themselves or make any claims to 
social recognition. They had left the little town where 
they had formerly resided on account of the disgrace 
Mr. Barnes had brought on himself and his home by 
betraying the innocent daughter of a prominent citizen, 
— his own daughter’s friend, — and then contemptuously 
abandoning her to her fate. In a frenzy of despair 
she had finally denounced him, showed the letters, 
couched in endearing terms, which he had written to 
her, and then cast herself into the river. 

The same day that her body was found Mr. Barnes 
came to Newbridge, where the foundries with which 
he had long been connected were situated, rented the 
house 6n the hill just beyond Irene’s home, and sent 
for his family — his wife, a son, and this daughter, 
Minnie — to join him. 

Mrs. Barnes was a little, puny, delicate woman, hav- 
ing a very nervous temperament. At the time of her 
marriage she was an orphan and heiress, and had almost 
idolized her husband, so much she had loved him. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


39 


anticipating bis every wish, lavishing her love and 
caresses upon him constantly, making his comfort and 
pleasure her ceaseless study and never permitting her 
desires to cross his; and he squandered her money, 
tyrannized over her, and finally, ceasing to find her 
attractive, deserted her society for that of other women. 
She drooped and grew despondent as one after another 
of the tangled episodes of his life came to her ear, and 
sorrow crept into her heart and stayed there. She 
faded as a flower from whose fair petals the sunlight 
has been withdrawn, lived secluded from all society, 
devoting herself with untiring energy and patience to 
the care and training of her children. Long ago she 
had ceased to watch for her husband’s home-coming ; 
long ago she had ceased the caresses which she saw 
were distasteful to him ; and he — well, when a woman 
grows old and loses her beauty, her health, and her 
fortune, you can’t expect such a man to devote himself 
to her as ardently as when she possessed all those 
charms. There are too many fair faces smiling up into 
his, out in the world, which he can drop, put aside, and 
forget when they cease to be attractive to him. 

Minnie was like her father in temperament, looks, 
and disposition, although her nature had been some- 
what modified by the loving attention of a devoted 
mother. 

Such a pleasant little thing ! such excellent man- 
ners!” many an admiring mother said of her as she 
passed. This pleasant little thing” had heard the 
story of her father’s disgrace, knew the reason of their 
hasty removal from their former home, knew why her 
mother had remained in her room, refusing to see any 


40 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


one of the family for days after their arrival at New- 
bridge, and why, when she did make her appearance, 
her eyes were bloodshot and the muscles about them 
drawn, — yet she never betrayed any sign of such knowl- 
edge, but went about the house, arranging each article 
of furniture so that it would appear to the best advan- 
tage, singing and smiling all the while. 

AYlien school was over, and the scholars were pouring 
out of the homely building where they had been housed 
all day, Irene found her aunt awaiting her outside in a 
carriage, and was not long in taking a place by her 
side. They drove about the city, stopping to purchase 
the novel, thence to the shop of the leading modiste, 
where the dress was left to be made and a promise 
extracted that it would be sent home completed on the 
next Friday afternoon, that Mrs. Bostwick might see 
and pass judgment on it before leaving Newbridge. 
Afterwards they drove out into the country, talking 
confidentially one to the other, quite after the manner 
of old and intimate friends. 

That ride was full of enjoyment for Irene, though 
it would have been impossible for her to describe or 
relate faithfully the many and varied thoughts and im- 
pressions that filled her mind and soul throughout it. 
She would never have told them could she have re- 
called them, I am certain, because so many were vain, 
foolish, and absolutely selfish. With her quick percep- 
tion she easily discerned, through the thin transparency 
that masked the inner self-consciousness and cold world- 
liness of the woman by her side, a nature akin to her 
own, that would be able to sympathize with her if she 
were to talk freely and openly of her hopes and plans, 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


41 


of the drawbacks and stumbling-blocks in her daily 
life. 

So when the opportunity presented, she began to open 
her heart and reveal her life, as it were, to her aunt by 
relating some annoying experiences by way of vindica- 
tion for the hasty words spoken in her hearing the day 
before. 

get so sick of having every request refused 
almost before it is uttered; of not being allowed to 
enjoy the only things that bring pleasure and enter- 
tainment to me, such as books, music, and painting; 
and of being obliged each day to sweep, cook, and 
scrub, — work from which my very soul recoils. Do 
you know that many times I think that I would rather 
die than continue living as I do, seeing nothing prom- 
ised in the future that shall be better than the past or 
the present! And, when I think that I cannot die 
until my time comes, I study more earnestly each day 
in the hope of getting something better out of life, — 
of accomplishing something that may make it worth 
living. I am certain that I could improve myself, and 
perhaps gain some position in the world, if I might 
only have opportunity and encouragement. The draw- 
ing-teacher at school says I have great talent for paint- 
ing, and I love to paint, but mother will not furnish me 
with paints and brushes. She says it is all nonsense, 
and that they didn’t teach painting when she went to 
school, and they had just as fine scholars then as now; 
and father always sends me to mother, and says, ‘ Do 
as your mother thinks best : if she is willing, I am.’ 
And to think that I can have instruction from an artist 
all the while, and may not take it because a few dollars 
4 * 


42 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


must be first expended on materials ! So it is with 
music : I learn easily, and can play many airs that I 
have only heard others play once, yet I am rarely 
allowed to touch the piano. Oh, Aunt Mollie, you 
must not think me ungrateful, only wretched, — so 
wretched and unhappy ! You say my dresses are too 
short. Do you think I have not known it? Do you 
think I have not known it for a long time and been 
humiliated on account of them? But of course you 
do not know, — how could you 

The tears were coursing down Irene’s cheeks, for she 
had renewed the experiences in relating them. Mrs. 
Bostwick was much moved. 

'‘Poor girl,” she said, sympathizingly, " I see how 
you are situated, and I am very sorry; but you must 
remember that your father is a hard-working man, and 
by no means rich. You should not seek what he can- 
not afford.” 

" I do not ask what he cannot afford, — that is just 
the trouble ; I only ask a very little of what he is able 
to give, to help make me independent in the future.” 

" And that is just what he is doing for you; fitting 
you for a teacher,” said Mrs. Bostwick. 

"And do you think I will teach? Never! Not if 
they send me to school until I am gray. I’ll starve 
rather than sit behind a desk day after day, trying to 
drum knowledge into a lot of numskulls ! No, I 
will never be a teacher ; the scholars always hate the 
one who is teacher. I want to be admired and looked 
up to ; I want to do something that every one cannot 
do. AYhy has God given me talent and such a dispo- 
sition, and then placed me as I am ? I have never 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


43 


dared to mention my ambition to any one before ; but 
it has long been fixed and rooted in my heart. You 
do not sympathize with me, you cannot.’^ 

“Indeed, I do sympathize with you, my dear, al- 
though I have never been situated as you are. I can 
see what you want, and how your wishes are curbed, 
yet I would advise you to curb them yourself a little. 
Your parents love you, and are doing what they think 
is best for you ; you cannot change their ways, for they 
are fixed, settled ; but you can restrain your wishes, and 
be happier thereby. Try to be more like they would 
have you to be, and you will be more contented in 
consequence.’^ 

“ And live here in Newbridge all my life, and even- 
tually, perhaps, do menial work only? No! I can’t, 
and will not try.” 

If Mr. Bostwick could have been a listener, unob- 
served, to this conversation, he would certainly have 
smiled to hear his quick-tempered, impetuous, wilful 
wife speak to this spirit so like her own in such calm, 
admonitory manner. 

“Well, put a guard on your tongue, and you will 
spare many heart- pangs to your mother. Try to do 
that at least. I am sorry about the music and paint- 
ing ; but never mind them, work hard in school, ac- 
complish all you can there, try to look well all the time, 
be polite and considerate in your manners, be careful in 
the selection of your associates, choosing only those 
who can elevate you socially, and, in time, you may 
attract the notice of some rich gentleman, who will 
ask you to marry him. I married such a one at your 
age.” 


44 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


“And Uncle Kobert is thirty years older than you 
are, is he not?’^ Irene inquired, thoughtlessly. 

“Yes,’^ the answer came, short and hard. Irene 
had intended to follow the question with another, 
but thought better of it. They were riding along by 
a piece of woods that skirted the town. She changed 
the subject adroitly by saying, — 

“ Right here we can find some lovely wild-flowers, 
if you care to get out and search for them.” 

“ Yes, let us gather some by all means, and then 
hurry back home again, or your mother will be worried 
about us.” 

Alighting from the carriage they wandered about 
the woods for a while, plucking such stray blossoms 
as they could find, emerging at length with hands 
full and faces radiant from the exercise. Youth and 
middle age! They looked too beautiful together not 
to awaken admiration. 

On the way homeward, Mrs. Bostwick related to 
Irene the story of the picture of herself that had once 
hung in the Salon at Paris, which the wild-flowers had 
recalled to her memory, — told how the artist had 
stopped under her father’s roof for several days, making 
sketches from her face. 

“ And where is the picture now ?” queried Irene, 
deeply interested. 

“ I do not know, I am sure,” replied her aunt. “ It 
was sold for an enormous sum — many thousands of 
dollars — to some one in Paris; but to whom I have never 
been able to trace definitely, or I should have tried to 
purchase it myself.” 

Many thousands of dollars for one picture ! — Irene’s 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


45 


eyes opened wide and her breast heaved, — and she had 
talent for painting ! Just as quick as a lighted match 
will burn the flax it touches, so those words set fire to 
her determination to lose no time henceforth, but learn 
to paint at the cost of any sacrifice. A teacher at forty 
dollars a month ? not she ; but an artist with many 
timas that sum, perhaps, for a single picture! 

After tea that evening, Mrs. Bostwick, seating her- 
self at the piano, ran her fingers lightly over the keys. 

‘^Good heavens, Sarah, how long since this piano 
has been tuned 

I had it tuned only a year ago last summer, and it 
has scarcely been opened since,^^ answered her sister. 

No wonder there is no music in it ; it ought to be 
used every day to keep it in order. When do the 
girls practise?” 

June don’t know nothing about music, and Irene 
has her school to attend to, so she doesn’t get time to 
practise ; besides, she doesn’t know how to play much 
anyhow, and I thought she might only injure it.” 

Injure it ? I should say you were doing it an injury 
by allowing it to remain unused so long,” said Mrs. 
Bostwick, closing the instrument. 

The piano-tuner was sent for next day ; and Irene 
was never afterwards denied the privilege of playing 
when her mother did not require her services elsewhere. 

The days of Mrs. Bostwick’s visit were full of both 
merriment and discord, and Friday, the day of depart- 
ure, came all too soon. The dress was delivered in 
season, and she was delighted at the improvement it 
made in her niece’s appearance. Irene, too, was happy 
in its possession, and was permitted to wear it all the 


46 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


afternoon and evening, after her return from school, at 
her aunt’s request, that she might appear as well as 
possible before her husband, who had come at noon to 
accompany her on the rest of her journey. 

There was much bustle and confusion the few hours 
preceding their departure. Mrs. Bostwick was im- 
patient, spoke sharply to Favette, and ordered her hus- 
band about as if he were a servant. It seemed as if 
his presence in the house was distasteful to her — she 
found so much fault with everything and everybody 
after he came. 

Don’t forget what I have told you about your 
hair, your manner, your friends, and, most of all, your 
temper,” said Mrs. Bostwick to Irene, a few moments 
before parting; and, slipping a five-dollar gold piece 
in her hand, added, Buy some paints with that, and 
daub away to your heart’s content, and try to be happy; 
it spoils your face to be cross and bad-tempered always.” 
And straightway turning about, she responded impa- 
tiently and peevishly to something her husband was 
saying to her. 

He did not seem to be annoyed, however, at her 
manner, but was so very calm and dignified in his 
demeanor all the while that Irene thought him proud 
and disdainful. He only meant to be considerate. 
For in contrasting the plain surroundings and humble 
appearance of the home of the Pattons with his own 
luxurious mansion and its appointments, he feared that 
his wife had been denied some comforts to which she 
had grown accustomed, so redoubled his attentions to 
her, executing her slightest wish as if it were an 
especial privilege granted to him. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


47 


Mrs. Bostwick was quite ready to take her leave 
when the time for her departure arrived ; indeed, she 
had been anxious to go before, having soon wearied of 
the monotonous home-life of the Pattons, each day’s 
routine being almost exactly like that of the day before. 

Good-by, my dear ; write to me often and let me 
know how you progress. I shall be bored to death out 
West, and your letters will be very welcome,” she said 
to Irene, after taking leave of the rest. ^^Bobert,” 
she continued, addressing her husband, ^^you must 
not forget to bid Irene good-by.” 

He had been standing, engrossed with his thoughts, 
gazing into the changing expressions of Irene’s face, 
quite forgetful for a moment of his wife’s presence. 
He was recalling a face like hers, only not nearly 
so beautiful, that had captivated him many years before, 
and was wondering whether her face would change as 
that one had, and her heart become as cold, selfish, 
and unsympathetic. Did he regret? No; but he 
thought that had he his life to live over from that time 
he would proceed differently, and perhaps be happier 
now in consequence. It must have been these very 
thoughts that led him, unconsciously, to press Irene’s 
hand tightly in his own as he took leave of her, im- 
printing at the same time a warm kiss on her forehead, 
and saying, in a low voice, — 

Good-by, little girl ; may you make some good man 
happy.” 

Irene looked up astonished at his manner and words; 
but already he was in attendance upon his wife, assist- 
ing her into the carriage. The door closed and they 
were gone. Eegretfully she turned and went into 


48 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


the house which, now that her aunt and Favette had 
gone out of it, seemed as empty as did her heart and 
life. 

In the evening, as she sat in the parlor, idly running 
her fingers over the keys of the piano while waiting 
for Minnie Barnes to call for her on her way to the 
social, she recalled and pondered over her varied ex- 
periences of the past week, — the quarrel with her mother, 
her aunt’s visit and the ride, the talks and the gifts ii 
had brought, and, above all else, the hope it had aroused 
in her breast for the future. If the drawing-master 
at school had spoken honestly in praise of her talent, 
what glorious prospects might not life hold for her ! 

With the money her aunt had given to her at part- 
ing she would purchase the much -coveted paints and 
brushes, and need no longer continue, as had been her 
custom, to exchange mental labor for such materials as 
she required and could secure from pupils more fortu- 
nate in possessing the implements for art-work than 
ability to work out perplexing problems in mathematics. 
She had never begrudged the labor thus repaid in the 
past, only it brought with it, always, a humiliating 
sense of subservience, and she was gratified that there 
would no longer be need of such requited effort. 

Impatient at her friend’s delay, she went over to the 
window and looked out into the dark street, but was 
soon absorbed in thought again. This time it was not 
of her home, her aunt, nor her art, she was thinking, 
but of a step that had hurried to overtake her as she 
was coming from school that afternoon, and of a full, 
rich voice that had spoken her name. She had stopped 
when she heard it, and turning had encountered a pair 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 49 

of honest brown eyes looking into hers, and had recog- 
nized, with a flush of shame, Frank Raynor. 

He had spoken kindly to her, but she did not heed 
what he was saying, being unable to think of anything 
save that meeting of a few days before when she had 
been so very rude to him. He must have noticed her 
embarrassment, for he had said ever so gently, — 

I hope you do not consider me an intruder ?’’ and 
though she had made haste to answer No,’^ she had 
lapsed into silence again, being unable to converse with 
him because of the predominance of that humiliating 
remembrance in her mind. 

He had talked pleasantly of school-life until, cha- 
grined at her own stupidity, she had burst forth with 
an apology when, interrupting her, he had begged her 
not to think of or refer to the subject, saying he had 
taken it for granted that she was sulfering at the time 
from some secret or personal sorrow, and regretted only 
that he was unable to lighten or alleviate her distress 
in any way. She recalled his words now with much 
comfort, the only words of honest sympathy she had 
ever known. Once he had been her Sunday-school 
teacher, — thus had she first known him. In society 
his station was far in advance of hers, and he was much 
sought after by every one. It had been very generous 
of him to think of her fault so considerately. 

Her reverie was here interrupted by her friend’s 
arrival, who turned her about while admiring her new 
gown, saying, over and over again, How becoming 
it is !” before they set out together. 

I saw you on your way home from school to-day,” 
said Minnie, when they were out in the street ; “ and 


50 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


I will forgive you this once for running away from 
me, though you could not have waited a second even, 
for I came home behind you all the way as far as the 
corner here/^ 

I did not wait at all ; I hurried home because my 
aunt was going away/^ 

Now, Irene, that will do to tell ; of course, you 
didn^t know that you were likely to meet Mr. Raynor ! 
— of course not ; how should you continued Minnie, 
mockingly. 

Why, what are you talking about ? Of course I 
didn’t know ; I met him by accident : and what of it ?” 

Oh, nothing ; only it is easy to see that he admires 
you very much, and he walks by your house each day. 
Have you never noticed him ?” 

Why, no ; I have never noticed his going past, — 
and what if he does ?” 

Oh, how stupid of you ! Why should he go, in- 
deed ! Not because it is such a beautiful street, I am 
sure ; nor because it is the shortest way to his home 
either; but because Well, I think you do per- 

fectly right to encourage him just a little; for, only 
think, if you were to marry him, you could live in 
that big house of his.” 

^‘Good gracious, Minnie! what are you trying to 
say ? It’s all nonsense anyway. Why, he used to be 
my Sunday-school teacher; and he is ever so much 
older than I am. Why — why, he never even thinks 
of me !” 

Oh, no ; I should say not ! the way he stares at you 
every Sunday in church and Sunday-school when you 
are not seeing him. Then, I noticed his manner to-day 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


51 


as you walked from school, — very attentive, indeed ! 
What was he talking about so earnestly 

Why, he was only saying — saying ” Irene 

hesitated, not willing to confide to Minnie even the 
substance of their conversation. 

Ah, you will not tell ! I can easily understand how 
it is ; and I will forgive you for withholding your con- 
fidence. Under such circumstances friends are always 
thrust in the background and confidence withheld ; 
though why, at such a time and on such a subject, I 
am not able to understand. It seems like denying 
one^s self a special gratification, and one’s friend an 
uncommon pleasure ; however, I hope you will pardon 
me for offering advice that was not needed,” she said, 
laughingly, as they reached the church-door and went 
within, Irene vainly attempting to explain to her that 
she had been mistaken and was misunderstanding her. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Frank Raynor was the superintendent of one of 
the principal railroads running out of Newbridge. 
Ten years before he had come there from the East as 
an assistant to the former superintendent, and had been 
selected to fill the office at his death. 

His father had been at one time a prominent official 
and stockholder in one of the most important of East- 
ern railroads, and had resided with his family, con- 
sisting of his wife and two children, — Frank and a 


52 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


daughter younger than him, — in a magnificent home 
in Boston. In an evil hour, however, he began specu- 
lating in mines, made frequent visits to New York, 
returning each time more careworn and troubled, and 
finally, confessing himself bankrupt, gave up every- 
thing, even his home, to his creditors, and died soon 
after. Frank was but twenty-three then, calculating 
on a future for himself as an associate with his father 
in business. This sudden change in his prospects was 
therefore a great blow to him ; yet he never mur- 
mured, but immediately set about seeking some avail- 
able means of providing for his mother and sister. 

One of his father’s dearest friends, Mr. Blaisdell, 
had secured the place at Newbridge for him ; promis- 
ing, when he had gained sufficient knowledge of 
railroad affairs by experience there, to seek something 
better for him in the East ; and Frank had gratefully 
accepted the appointment, glad to get away from the 
scenes of his father’s misfortune. 

His mother had inherited a small fortune by the 
death of her brother soon after he had come to New- 
bridge, and instead of coming with his sister to live 
there with him, she chose rather to remain in Boston, 
where they would be among old friends, calculating all 
the while that Frank would soon be with them there, 
according to Mr. Blaisdell’s promise. But the months 
grew into years, and no change was suggested by 
Mr. Blaisdell, and Frank, being well satisfied where he 
Avas after his promotion, and being enabled to visit his 
mother frequently in Boston, never referred to the 
subject in any way. 

His income being large and his expenses light, he 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


53 


managed to lay by a goodly sum each year, and once 
he had conceived the idea of fitting up a pleasant home 
at Newbridge for his mother and sister, and inviting 
them to try life there. In pursuance of this plan 
he purchased, for less than half its original cost, a 
fine large residence, located in the most desirable part 
of the city, that had been offered for sale at public 
auction in settlement of an estate. 

His plans were all disarranged, however, by his sis- 
ter’s marriage to a wealthy gentleman, who took his 
bride to as palatial a home as her father’s had been, 
and persuaded her mother to live with them ; so the 
great house at Newbridge, with its wealth of beautiful 
and tastily-appointed grounds, was offered for rent, and 
became the abode of strangers. 

Through Frank Raynor’s acquaintance with the pas- 
tor of Trinity Church, who proved to be a former 
college-mate of his, he came to attend church regularly, 
and at one time had been induced to take charge of a 
class of young girls in Sunday-school, one of whom 
was Irene. So had he first met her. 

He only retained the class a short time, however. 
It was too discouraging to see a row of young girls 
before him each Sunday with their books invariably 
open at the wrong place, each one taking time to find 
the page and paragraph for reading when called upon, 
— not before ; staring about the room or into vacancy 
as he sought to engage their attention by telling de- 
lightful stories and asking simple questions, and find- 
ing sometimes two girls whispering together at one end 
of the seat, and at the other end two more dividing 
candy which they had bought with the money given 
6 * 


54 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


them to place in the missionary- box, and the one 
whom he would be particularly addressing looking 
beyond him, and not hearing a word he was saying 
until recalled by a nudge from the one listener and 

it’s your turn,” spoken in an audible whisper. He 
gave up the class, finally, in disgust. Irene always list- 
ened intelligently while he talked, and first attracted 
him because of her attention. Each week he looked 
eagerly forward to seeing 'the bright pretty face that 
always greeted him on Sunday afternoons ; and often, 
after he had resigned his place as teacher, he found him- 
self seeking her out from his corner in the minister’s 
class in front, and watching with more than ordinary 
interest the changing expressions of her reflective 
countenance; and although it was almost two years 
since he had given up the class, yet his interest in 
Irene had never abated, but seemed to be increasing 
all the time. Lately, especially since the day he had 
discovered her crying along the streets, his thoughts 
had been full of her. 

Her rebuff he had excused by attributing it to ill- 
feeling that had been aroused by cruelty, perhaps, on 
the part of her mother, whom he had heard spoken of 
as a hard-hearted, unsympathetic woman, hence unfit 
by nature to train such a tender, beautiful blossom. 
Becoming amazed at the way in which she was en- 
grossing his attention and absorbing his thoughts, he 
sought to reason with himself once by saying, — 

“There are many such misplaced people in life. 
They manage to worry through somehow ; why should 
I bother myself over one of them?” And he fell to 
wondering what it was he found to interest him in tlie 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


55 


daughter of a mechanic, and what his proud mother 
and sister would say if he should marry such an one. 
Then privately calling himself a fool, he had taken up 
a book and tried in vain to read from its pages and 
forget her. 

“She has changed wonderfully in a short time,” he 
said, the night of the social, as he gazed admiringly on 
her, not realizing that it was himself who had been 
changing gradually during a long time. Last Mon- 
day she had seemed like a child to him, to-night 
like a woman grown ; and his eyes followed her every 
movement with increased interest and admiration. 
When she passed near him, somehow his heart quick- 
ened its beating, and he fairly burned with desire to walk 
along by her side. He did not follow this inclination, 
however, though he caught himself once opening and 
closing both of his hands as they hung by his sides in 
a nervous effort to keep himself from going over to 
where she sat and taking the vacant place next to her. 

“ How lovely that Patton girl looks to-night ! It 
must be her dress that shows her beauty to such great 
advantage. I never saw her look so well !” he over- 
heard one woman say to another. “ That Patton girl” 
jarred on his ears ; yet he found consolation in thinking 
that since others also admired her it was not strange 
that he should have been staring at her, so he cast 
another glance in the direction where she had been 
sitting, and, finding her no longer there, impatiently and 
hurriedly looked about the room, catching sight of her 
form at the door- way as she was leaving with her friend. 
Before he realized what he was about he was by her 
side, saying, — 


56 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


You are not leaving so soon ?” 

Yes,” she answered, showing surprise at his man- 
ner. 

But you two young girls must not go home with- 
out an escort, the night is dark. Wait one moment, 
please, while I get my hat, and I will go with you.” 

Before Irene could explain that Minnie’s brother was 
outside waiting to accompany them he had gone, and 
there was no alternative for her but to await his return. 
When he came back, however, she told him, and be- 
sought him not to trouble himself unnecessarily.; but 
he asked the privilege of accompanying her, neverthe- 
less, and walked along by her side, Minnie and her 
brother being in advance of them. 

How have you enjoyed the evening?” he inquired, 
pleasantly. 

‘‘Not at all,” she said; “that is, not as much as I 
had anticipated,” she added, feeling that her first reply 
required some explanation, and not willing to give the 
true one. 

The truth was, she had heard of a party one of her 
schoolmates had given the night before, to which she 
had not been invited ; and then Belle Lawrence, an old 
acquaintance, had cut her. The knowledge of these 
slights, the latter one in particular, was sufficient to 
take away all her enjoyment of the evening. 

The Lawrences and the Pattons had been neighbors 
for years, and had come from the same place, at the 
same time, to Newbridge, to try their fortunes anew. 
Mr. Lawrence had been more successful than John 
Patton, and the families had grown gradually apart, 
though they still continued to exchange friendly greet- 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


57 


ings whenever they met. Lately, the oldest son of 
Mr. Lawrence had married the daughter of the leading 
merchant of Newbridge, and had been given an interest 
in his father-in-law’s business; and since then it was no 
uncommon occurrence for his sister Belle to pass Irene 
on the street without even seeing her, where formerly 
she had been wont to stop and talk a few moments. 
So does success or advancement, coming however it 
may, influence the insipid, shallow nature, blinding it 
to everything save self-interest; leading it to appre- 
ciate no favor or attention save from those who feed 
its vanity, encourage its frivolity, and patronize its 
weaknesses. 

And to-night Irene had approached Belle Lawrence 
and was about to address her, when she turned her back 
and walked away, — a deliberate cut, there was no deny- 
ing it, — and Minnie had noticed it, so there was no 
pleasure to be obtained thereafter. 

I am sorry that you were disappointed. Did some- 
thing trouble you and thus hinder your enjoyment? 
I noticed that you were looking serious; indeed, I 
think you appear serious oftener than you do happy,” 
said Frank Raynor, seeking to gain her confidence, 
wishing to understand her better. 

No new trouble,” she answered, her lips quivering. 

Everybody and everything seems continually opposed 
to me.” Then impulsively she added, after a moment’s 
pause, “Mr. Raynor; I must speak out, for I shall 
never feel satisfied until I have told you why, on last 
Monday, I was so rude to you. The truth is, I was 
heart-sick and disgusted with life then, and did not 
care how I treated any one. My mother had taken a 


58 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


book from me that I had borrowed and burned it, 
seeking to punish me thus for borrowing novels and 
cure me of reading them. It made me hate her, my- 
self, and every one at the time.” He could not see the 
tears, but they spoke in her tremulous voice. 

And did your mother do that ?” he said, in sur- 
prise, — to his refined nature such an act seemed most 
cruel and repulsive. Not waiting for her to reply, he 
continued, I am grieved to know of this. Perhaps 
there is more besides to tell ? Do not hesitate to con- 
fide in me, for, be assured, I am and will always be 
your friend.” 

No, there is nothing more to tell, — or, rather, there 
is everything. I believe ofttimes that, — but I can’t 
talk now,” she said, sobs choking her utterance, only 
I am so wretched sometimes that I feel like running 
away.” She had not intended to make a confidant of 
him, she wanted only to clear up and excuse her child- 
ish, impetuous deportment at the time in question, that 
it might not linger in his remembrance to her dis- 
credit. 

Oh, that you must never think of doing. It would 
be such a wild, insane thing for you to do. You have 
a good home, and your mother, of course, does not 
mean to be unkind ” 

But is, just the same !” she interrupted. 

"Yes,” he answered, thinking that ofttimes the lack 
of sympathy from those with whom we are daily asso- 
ciated is a more cruel affliction than bodily suffering. 
" Irene,” he added, after a moment’s silence, " is there 
any way in which I can be of help to you ?” 

"No, Mr. Baynor, you could never help me to see 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


59 


my home differently from what it is, from what it has 
ever been ; and there is no comfort, sympathy, or har- 
mony to be found in it.” 

“I might help you to discover some; or I might 
even induce you to ignore that which is unpleasant and 
discouraging, and to overlook many of your mother’s 
peculiarities.” 

Mr. Raynor, if you but knew my mother, you 
would realize how useless any such effort would be. 
She thinks she knows all about everything, and that 
her judgment and decision must stand even against all 
reason ; and when she makes a statement, she will cling 
to it even when she knows she is mistaken.” 

Yet, after all, if you were to seek to please her, — 
not to discover and brood over her faults and provoke 
her by complaining of them.” 

I do try to please her; but it is an impossibility.” 

Irene, if you had any ambition for the future ” 

have,” she interrupted, quickly; “that’s just the 
trouble. I want to become an artist, and mother thinks 
it is all folly, and won’t listen to any reason on the 
subject.” 

“ It is one of the most praiseworthy vocations you 
could choose,” he said; “and, if you have abil- 
ity to pursue it successfully, you will have many op- 
portunities for meeting with people of refinement 
and intelligence, and their attention and respect you 
will certainly command if you are successful as an 
artist and your career as a woman is commendable. 
Picture a future as bright as your imagination will 
permit, and then say whether you can afford to humili- 
ate yourself now by disputations that can have no 


60 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


ultimate results in your favor, that only arouse all that 
is unpleasant and rebellious in your disposition, that 
appeal to your baser nature alone, and are in them- 
selves degrading; remembering always that you are 
now laying a foundation for that future.” 

But I have not the slightest hope or chance of be- 
coming an artist without help from home, and it will 
never be given me.” 

No man can say what the future holds for him. Is 
it not as well — certainly it is more encouraging — to 
hope that your ambition will be gratified some day, 
and to make a proper preparation now ? Why not, at 
least, cultivate a beautiful character; cease to waste 
time in fruitless argument or open contest; look for 
good instead of evil ? Such effort cannot fail to meet 
with some reward ; and, at any rate, you will be better 
prepared to appreciate the realization of a future in 
sympathy with your heart’s desire, should it ever be 
allowed you.” 

But what am I to do when my mother is opposed 
to me, and determined to argue against all reason ?” 

Exercise self-control ; do not oppose her ; do not 
argue, but listen to her in silence ; you will thereby be 
showing her proper respect, and save yourself much 
valuable time and humiliation. Fix your standard of 
life high, and work towards it, thinking constantly of 
progression. Let every act of your most private life 
be made with a view of fitting yourself for the result 
you hope to attain. I do not mean to dictate a course 
of action or fix a rule for you to follow. I offer these 
words of advice only as friend to friend.” 

They had reached Irene’s home, — it was only a short 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


61 


distance away from the church, — and there was no time 
to say more. 

“ I have never looked at life or thought of the future 
before as you have presented it to me, Mr. Raynor,^’ 
Irene said, slowly and thoughtfully. I believe that 
I have been taking a wrong view of it all along, and 
that you are directing me aright. I thank you.’^ She 
extended her hand to him, continuing, “ I thank you, 
and will seek hereafter to profit by what you have said. 
Good-night.^^ 

He held her hand in his own a moment, without 
attempting to say anything more; then, waiting until 
she had entered the house and closed the door behind 
her, he walked slowly away. He had been amazed at 
the calmness of her tone and the quietness of her de- 
meanor at the last, in such striking contrast, as it was, 
to her tone and manner at the beginning of the conver- 
sation. 

It is pitiful, he said many times, as he continued 
to think of Irene and her home-influences, wondering 
all the while why he gave so much thought to her, 
never realizing how closely akin was pity to a warmer 
feeling that was struggling for supremacy in his breast. 


62 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


CHAPTER Y. 

School had been closed for the summer vacation 
almost two weeks, when, one evening, Irene gathering 
together some sketches she had been painting, carried 
them up to the home of her friend, Minnie Barnes, to 
show them to her for the first time and see what judg- 
ment she would pass on them. There were a marine 
view, a landscape, and some sketches of flowers in the 
collection, the result of diligent effort, all painted at 
odd intervals when she could steal the time, since her 
aunt had gone away. 

will be an artist,” she had said, with settled 
determination, as she went to her room that night after 
returning from the social with Frank Raynor. It is 
the only way I may have of improving my condition. 
I will build my hopes on attaining success in art; 
some good angel will surely happen along to help me 
out of the rut in which I am now living and direct me 
in the surest way to fame; meanwhile, I will work 
diligently to the best of my knowledge and ability, 
that no time may be wasted.” And she settled herself 
to work out her future. 

What do you think of my sketches, Minnie? Do 
you think I will ever become an artist?” she inquired 
of her friend, after showing to her the last of the 
pictures she had painted. 

“ What a question of you to ask of me ! An artist ? 
Why, you are one already : are you not ?” 

I an artist ? You are laughing at me. Why, I have 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


63 


scarcely learned to mix the paints, and can only make 
little sketches like these you have just seen. How are 
you impressed by them ? Do they look right and natu- 
ral to you ? Now these pansies, — do they look like real 
pansies Irene questioned, holding up a card on which 
she had painted a cluster. Minnie had already looked 
over all of her pictures, giving equal praise to each, 
though Irene felt confident that some were less deserving 
than others, so believed that the praise was not sincere. 

Tell me, honestly, what do you think of them ?’’ 
she continued. ‘^I won’t get angry, because I want 
really to know if what I have done seems to another 
to have merit.” 

I did tell you that they were all pretty; of course, 
I am not an art critic, and only say what I think. They 
look all right ; only, I like those pansies least of any ; 
they don’t look just like real pansies.” 

There, now, I knew you were not in earnest when 
you spoke of all my sketches being perfect. Do always 
be frank with me, Minnie, and say what you really 
think, so I may improve where I am at fault,” Irene 
answered, impatiently. 

You ought to know better than I whether they are 
right or not : I don’t understand painting, and you do,” 
Minnie replied. 

‘^I wish I did, then you would think you might 
pluck those pansies, — they would seem so life-like ; but 
I don’t understand thoroughly the mixing and laying 
on of the colors.” And Irene held the picture at arm’s 
length, surveying it with head inclined first on one side 
and then on the other. If I had begun to take les- 
sons at the commencement of school I would not now 


64 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


be wasting so much time and paint in experimenting ; 
but now school is closed, and I have the whole summer 
before me in which to practise, with but little knowl- 
edge to guide me. It is always the way ; I never have 
any good fortune she said, despondently. 

Why did you not commence, then, at the beginning 
of school, if you wanted to learn so much ? I don’t 
see why you care so much about painting anyway. I 
would eversomuch rather embroider and crochet ; it is 
faster work, much more delicate, doesn’t soil the hands ; 
and then, one can talk at the same time. And a 
woman always appears to advantage with pretty colored 
silks and wool in her hands, — especially when the color 
is becoming to her, — while paints are dirty ; your hands 
and finger-nails and clothes are constantly being daubed 
with them, and you have to sit just so, and have just 
such a light, and always look so careless and slovenly,” 
said Minnie. 

“ Yes, but you might crochet and embroider all your 
lifetime without acquiring name or fame. Who ever 
heard of a distinguished crocheter and embroiderer? 
Who ever read in the society notes of the city journals, 
^ Among the distinguished guests was Mrs. Sylvanus 
Jones, the celebrated embroiderer and croeheter from 
London’ ? No one, I am sure. Tlie best artist at that 
work in Newbridge is that little dried-up old maid, 
Miss Snow, who keeps a little shop down on Barrow 
Street, and peddles out silk and zephyr in penny skeins, 
who imitates any kind of faney work she ever saw, and 
yet never gets invited anywhere, and is as poor as a 
church-mouse, I fancy, too. No : I would rather have 
a little paint on my clothes and hands and not look so 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


65 


well, and take my chances of obtaining some prominent 
position in the future, and of becoming a woman of 
distinction and note in the world.” 

Irene spoke with mucli earnestness and decision. 
When she finished a light laugh rippled forth from Min- 
nie’s lips, — a gentle, playful, yet insinuating laugh; and 
it was such an unusual thing for her to laugh aloud that 
Irene turned towards her abruptly in astonishment. 

^‘Why, what are you laughing at?” she inquired. 
For answer came another burst of laughter, and then 
Minnie replied, — 

The idea of my crocheting all my life ! I never 
thought of such a thing ! I meant for pastime only. 
Don’t you paint for pastime, and for the sake of the 
little ornaments and fancy things you can make?” 

For pastime? No ; I want to become a great artist. 
Why, do you never make any plans for the future? 
Don’t you ever think what you will make of yourself?” 

No, certainly not; why should I? My fortune 
comes fast enough ; it makes itself ; why need I worry 
about it ? I shall marry some one, of course, so soon 
as I am old enough, and settle down in my own home. 
Besides, how do I know I will live to accomplish a 
future, even if I planned for it?” 

But suppose you did not marry, and suppose you 
did not die, wouldn’t you like to feel that you had 
made a place for yourself in the world, — at least, that 
you would be able to earn a living for yourself, if 
obliged to do so ?” 

What nonsense ! Of course I shall marry ; and 
even if I do not, why, I have a home with papa and 
mamma always. I guess I wouldn’t suffer !” 


66 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


But it’s such a satisfaction to feel that one has the 
power to do something for one’s self, even if not re- 
quired to exert that power,” Irene urged. 

And wear yourself out, and use up the best years 
of your life in hard work, toiling, scheming, and plan- 
ning for what may end in a failure after all. Why, 
here you are already becoming a little old woman with 
worrying and working all the time, — ever since you 
have started on this painting business. You are not a 
bit like you used to be, Irene. And, after all, what 
does your work amount to ? — a bunch of bad pansies 
and several other daubs !” 

Daubs? You just now said they were pretty and 
natural !” said Irene, indignantly. 

That was only because I did not want to hurt your 
feelings.” 

“ Your consideration lacks the virtue of duration ; 
you might have spared them now.” 

^^Well, little old woman, what do you expect to 
make of the future, anyway ? Do you intend to paint 
violets and pansies all your life ?” Irene’s eyes flashed 
at the mocking tone. 

^^No,” she replied, with decision, I do not. I 
intend to paint pictures with people, houses, trees, 
water, animals, and the sky in them, — everything in 
fact, if I can only have some one to teach me how to 
paint them properly. I feel that I have the power to 
do them ; I feel that I will do them some day. Just 
now, — why, these pansies, — why, everything must have 
a beginning. I am simply practising with the colors 
now, that is all.” 

Don’t get so excited about the matter, Irene,” said 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


67 


Minnie, smilingly, it is not worth while. I meant 
no unkindness whatever. I wanted only to discourage 
you, because I think you would be happier if you 
could get these extravagant ideas out of your head. 
You have changed wonderfully of late; you have 
grown old in a day, and are not like the same person 
you used to be. I tell you, if I had your face and 
figure, your hair and eyes, I would devote more time 
and attention to dress and the improvement of my 
personal appearance, and think of marrying, instead 
of 

‘^Marrying!” Irene interrupted, with surprise and 
disgust. 

Yes ; why not ? You know yourself that you are 
handsome, — ^you might marry whom you chose 

The idea ! And what then ? Settle down in my 
own home and do as mother does, growing cross, ugly, 
and disagreeable? No, thank you; I would rather 
paint.” 

What ! You don’t mean to remain single all your 
life?” 

‘^That does not necessarily follow. I may and I 
may not. At any rate, I shall not think of marriage 
for some time to come, — certainly not until I am sought 
in marriage.” 

Irene, you are growing to be very disagreeable ; 
you haven’t a thought for anybody or anything, except 
those paints, of late. I talk to you, and you never 
hear a word I am saying half of the time. I wish 
you had never heard of painting,” said Minnie, regret- 
fully. 

“ Since I am so disagreeable and uncompanionable, 


68 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


I will DO longer intrude myself upon you,” and Irene 
sulkily gathered her sketches together and prepared to 
take her leave. 

“That^s it; just fly oif at a tangent and go home 
mad ! Two months ago we never thought of a quarrel, 
now we never meet without one.” 

“ Two months ago I was asleep, now I am beginning 
to awaken. Two months ago I never thought of seek- 
ing from you what I have lately sought and failed to 
secure, your sympathy as a friend in a new under- 
taking.” 

Why, Irene, I sympathize with you, indeed I do,” 
said Minnie, coaxingly, fearing a breach was forming 
between her friend and herself, and anxious to bridge 
it over before it was too late. 

No, you cannot sympathize with me, because you 
are not able to understand me. You say I have grown 
older; perhaps you are right; perhaps I have out- 
grown you.” And with this parting thrust Irene 
hurried out of the house and went homeward, heavy- 
hearted and full of disappointment. She had long 
since ceased to seek for sympathy at home, and had 
never before sought it from her friend, — the feeling she 
harbored for Minnie seemed always to forbid it, — 
yet this evening she had overcome that feeling and 
had talked freely of her hopes and plans, and the chill- 
ing response she had met with made her heart-sick. 
She was never able thereafter to overcome the effect of 
that conversation, and to feel the same warmth and 
fervor of friendship for Minnie she had felt before. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


69 


CHAPTER YL 

It was near the close of the last day of June. Irene 
was seated on the topmost step, and leaning against the 
pillar of the veranda which fronted her home, looking 
unusually attractive in a white muslin gown, her hair 
falling about her shoulders a mass of clustering curls, 
her hands clasped idly in front of her, her dreamy eyes 
gazing intently away in the clouds, and her thoughts in 
company with them. 

It was unusual for her to sit thus unoccupied, for, 
when she had finished her daily house-duties, she would 
paint if the light was good, or play on the piano 
the few snatches of music with which she was familiar, 
anxious to be engaged in some agreeable occupation 
rather than have her mother bring out a basket of stock- 
ings for her to mend. There were always stockings to 
mend, and they always had such yawning holes in 
them ; but her mother could never bear to see any one 
idle, so the stockings were infallibly brought out when 
there was nothing else to be done. 

But there was something of more consequence ab- 
sorbing Mrs. Patton’s attention this evening, and Irene 
knew she could sit idle without fear of interruption. 
The day had been an important one for the family, for on 
that day John Patton had been promoted to the position 
of foreman in the shops, with an increase of salary 
to almost twice the amount which he had been before 
receiving. It was an unusual occurrence for one of the 


70 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


workmen to be placed over his fellows; but the former 
foreman had resigned without the usual preliminary 
notice, and, as the place was one that could not remain 
vacant, John Patton, who had long held the position 
of master-workman, was selected to fill it. A proud 
man he was, too, as he entered his home that evening, 
and said in a quiet tone of voice, as if speaking of an 
every-day occurrence, — 

Well, Sarah, I have got the foremanship.” 

‘^The what?’’ inquired his wife, not realizing what 
he meant by the foremanship,” but having a vague 
idea that it was some position in the lodge to which he 
belonged. 

Why, I have been appointed foreman in the shop, 
in Mr. McFarland’s place.” 

Well, I like that kind of talk, I must say,” said 
Mrs. Patton, doubtingly, as she went from the dining- 
room to the kitchen while preparing the evening meal. 

You don’t believe it, do you ?” John Patton went 
on to say, fumbling about in his pockets, among some 
letters and papers. Then look at this !” and he drew 
out a letter and handed it to Irene, who stood near him, 
saying, “ Show that to your mother.” Irene took it 
and read it first, exclaiming, — 

^^Oh, mother, it is true: papa has been appointed 
foreman, sure enough !” 

Here ! let me see !” said Mrs. Patton, taking the 
paper from Irene’s hands and going into another room 
to peruse it. It was a formal notice from headquarters 
of his promotion, to take effect the following day. 

Well, how did this happen?” she inquired, after 
reading it. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


71 


“ You see that paper. You know as much about 
it as I do. Mr. McFarland quit, and they have given 
me his place. That’s all I want to know. I am satis- 
fied ; aren’t you ?” 

“ Yes,” she answered, slowly. Only it seems 
strange ; that’s all.” 

The truth was : John Patton at home and John 
Patton in the shops were two different men entirely. 
At the shops he was considered an excellent workman, 
and did earnestly and intelligently whatever he under- 
took. He was an important personage among his fel- 
low-workmen, and had great influence with them; but 
the moment he entered his wife’s presence he seemed 
to lose his individuality, and was swayed hither and 
thither, as she willed, like a reed in the wind. Whether 
this was a matter of policy on his part or the result of 
his great love for her I am not able to say; only cer- 
tain it was that Mrs. Patton was the head of the fam- 
ily, and that she had held sway for so many years that 
she had come to believe that her husband could not 
accomplish anything without her especial direction, 
advice, and assistance, which she always gave quite 
freely. So imbued had she become with this sense of 
her own importance that she could not realize all at 
once that her husband had been promoted without an 
especial effort on her part to bring it about. So she 
handed the notice back to him without comment. Just 
as she did so, the whole family was startled by a terrific 
pull at the door-bell. 

‘‘Good gracious!” exclaimed Mrs. Patton, as she 
turned to open the door. “ Whoever that is had better 
pull the bell down at once.” 


72 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


It was a boy with a telegram for her. She opened 
it hastily, and read aloud, — 

Robert was thrown from carriage and killed in- 
stantly. Have telegraphed Robert, Junior, to come. 
Body will be taken to New York for interment. 

Mary E. Bostwick.” 

A gloom fell over the family at this unexpected and 
sad intelligence. 

^^Poor Mollie!’’ said Mrs. Patton, wiping tears from 
her eyes on her apron. 

Poor ! I should say now that she was rich,” her 
husband had the misfortune to remark. 

John !” she answered him, sharply, how can you 
talk in that heartless, calculating way, when he was 
such a dear, good man ?” And she shed tears enough 
for all of them. No one seemed to care for any sup- 
per; and when it was over, Mr. and Mrs. Patton sat 
down in-doors, to talk over the change in their own 
affairs and the change in the affairs of Mrs. Bostwick ; 
while Irene, who had been strangely silent all the 
while, too full of sympathy for her aunt to say any- 
thing, and anxious to get out in the air, where she 
could breathe freer, went out on the veranda. 

June was there before her, seated on the lower step, 
arranging a piece of black calico as a sash about the 
waist of the doll her aunt had given her. Irene watched 
her absently for a time, while she listened to her father 
and mother within as they discussed the probable dis- 
position which Mr. Bostwick had made of his fortune. 
Soon ceasing to heed what they were saying, however^ 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


73 


she became absorbed in her own thoughts, -^wondering 
how her aunt would bear her sudden affliction, and 
whether she would deeply and forever mourn her loss, 
or soon forget it, as she did so many other things. 

Tenderly she recalled the tall, dignified old gentle- 
man, who had kissed her and pressed her hand so 
warmly and spoken such strange words to her at parting. 
She could see him now, in her mind^s ^ye, as he ten- 
derly assisted her aunt into the carriage at their de- 
parture, and seated himself by her side, smiling and 
lifting his hat in a final farewell. It was terrible to 
think that now he was lying away out there in a strange 
country cold and lifeless ! Where was his spirit ? Up, 
iipheyond the clouds perhaps; surely it must be in 
heaven. 

The sun was sinking behind the horizon, the sky was 
a brilliant crimson, fading away into blue and gray; 
the soft fleecy clouds were golden tipped, reflecting the 
last rays of the setting sun. The sight was beautiful to 
see. Was heaven beyond them ? Who knows ? Death 
would not be such a fearful thing, even after a life of 
pleasure and happiness on earth, if one might be per- 
mitted to look behind this delicate curtain. So ran her 
thoughts as she watched the shifting clouds with a 
newly-awakened interest in them. She looked up in 
embarrassment as Frank Raynor paused before the 
gateway, and, opening the latch, came towards her. 

Am I interrupting a day-dream ?’’ he said, pleas- 
antly, extending his hand. 

No, no,” she answered, hastily ; then perceiving 
that he had evidently come to make a call, added. 
Will you not come inside ?” 

D 7 


74 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


No, thank you : if you will permit me, I would 
much prefer to remain outside here with yourself and 
June,” and he seated himself on the step beside her 
without waiting for her to reply. I have brought a 
book with me that 1 think you will enjoy reading,” he 
continued, holding it towards her ; it is J. G. Hol- 
land’s ‘Katrina,’ a beautiful story in verse. Have you 
ever read it ?” 

“ No,” she answered, turning over the pages of the 
book ; “ and it is very kind of you to bring it to me, I 
am sure, and I thank you.” 

“ My doll had to be dressed in mourning, see, be- 
cause Uncle Robert is dead !” said June, at this junc- 
ture, seeing she was failing to receive any attention, and 
holding up her doll for his inspection. 

“Uncle Robert dead?” he inquired, looking towards 
Irene for explanation. 

“Yes; we received a telegram this evening from 
Mrs. Bostwick, our aunt, who is in Colorado, telling us 
that her husband had been thrown from a carriage and 
killed, and that they will take him home to New 
York to bury him. It was a great shock to us. He 
was such a nice old gentleman, and so devoted to Aunt 
Mollie. Only a few short weeks ago he was here, well 
and happy ; it is hard to realize that to-day he is out 
there in Colorado, dead !” said Irene, seriously. 

“ It is, indeed, very sad. Was he so very old ?” 

“ Nearly seventy, I believe.” 

“ Was he Robert L. Bostwick, a broker, of New 
York?” inquired Frank Raynor, with much earnest- 
ness. 

“ Why, yes. Did you know him ?” 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


75 


Yes, yes, — and he is dead he answered, gravely. 
“My father knew him better,” he added. 

“ Why, how strange ! He was here but a short time 
ago, with Aunt Mollie. Did you know Mrs. Bostwick, 
too ? She is my mother’s youngest sister.” 

“ No, I never met Mrs. Bostwick, and my father’s 
acquaintance with her husband was only a business 
one. Through him my father became poor, — lost 
everything, — and died in the prime of life, a broken- 
hearted man. Had it not been for Robert Bost- 
wick, without doubt I might now be holding a 
position of more credit even than the one I fill. I 

might never have But why should I talk to you 

in this fashion; he was your uncle, and he is dead; let 
him rest in peace.” He spoke with much feeling; 
then, turning to Irene, he extended his hand, saying, 
“ Forgive me ; I forgot for the moment that he was 
dear to you, and thought only of the misfortune of 
those I love which he helped to bring about. It was 
very selfish of me to so forget myself. Pray, pardon 
what I have said.” 

“ No, go on ; I would like to know the whole story ; 
won’t you please tell me; you will not offend meat 
all. Why, I never saw him but once ; that was when 
he stopped here a few weeks ago on his way to Colo- 
rado. He was here but a few hours only. I would 
like very much to know about your father’s acquaint- 
ance with him, — that is, if you are willing that I 
should,” she said, earnestly. 

“ Some time I may tell you all about it. Not now, 
though, not now.” 

Through the open door-way, out from the sitting- 


76 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


room at the farther end of the house, came the angry 
voice of Mrs. Patton in excited argument with her 
husband. What the subject of disagreement was Irene 
could not understand. She only knew that there was 
a controversy going on inside, and, by the pitch of her 
mother’s voice, that she was certainly getting the worst 
of it; and she was chagrined that Frank Raynor 
should be a listener. She shifted about uneasily for a 
moment, then drawing June towards her, she begged 
him to excuse her for whispering, and breathed a 
message into the child’s ear. June ran in-doors imme- 
diately, and out in front where they sat, both Irene 
and Frank heard her distinctly say, — 

Mamma, Irene says I am to tell you that Mr. 
Raynor is here.” The voices within were instantly 
hushed, but the silence that followed outside was em- 
barrassing in the extreme. 

In consideration for Irene, Frank Raynor rose, 
saying,— 

“I must not remain longer, as I have letters to 
write.” Then, noticing the look of humiliation that 
overspread her countenance, and anxious to have her 
understand that he esteemed her no less because of the 
little incident which had just transpired, he continued, 

I would like to remain longer and talk with you 
here, but ” 

No, no, no,” she interrupted. It is not pleasant 
here for you — for me — for any one. I understand 
how it is ; do not seek to explain.” The tone was soft 
and pleading; the face turned towards him so beautiful 
that he averted his glance for a moment, to release 
himself from its thraldom, lest he be swerved from 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


77 


the course he had determined on pursuing, even against 
the dictates of his heart and inclination. 

“ Do not misunderstand me,’^ he continued, calmly. 

I find such pleasure here in your company that I was 
about to say that I hoped to be permitted to come 
when I can remain longer.” She did not seem to heed 
what he was saying. It was evident that she believed 
he was making polite excuses for the sake of getting 
away. So, determined to reassure her, he added, 
hastily, as if in sudden recollection, ‘^How do you 
expect to spend the Fourth ?” 

“ I do not know. I have thought nothing whatever 
about it. Remain at home most likely all day and 
mope or read.” 

“Mr. Cresson, Mr. Bird, and myself are making 
up a fishing party for that day on The Heights. I 
would like 1:0 have you join us, if you think you would 
enjoy it.” 

“ Oh, I should be delighted !” she said, eagerly ; 
adding, with some hesitation, “ but who else is to be 
of the party ?” He named over several people. They 
were all known to her, though she was known to 
scarcely any of them, and they represented some of the 
first people of Newbridge. 

“Do you think they will like to have me with 
them ?” she questioned, vexed with herself for asking 
it as soon as she had spoken. 

“ They ? I know I shall like very much to have 
you with us. Indeed, the day will not be so pleasant 
if you are not there. Further than that, you will only 
have to decide whether it will be enjoyable for you. 
Suppose you think of going to please yourself and me, 
7 * 


78 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


and together we will try to get pleasure out of the 
excursion.” 

Irene smiled as she answered,; — 

You are very kind to invite me, Mr. Raynor, and 
I will go, and am sure to enjoy myself.” 

That is all that is necessary for me to know, then, 
and you have only to be ready at nine on the morning 
of the Fourth, when I will call for you. Good-even- 
ing.” 

They were standing on the walk, half-way between 
the door and gate; the shades of night were fast gath- 
ering about them ; a weeping willow, which grew in 
the corner of the yard near by, drooped its long 
branches across the walk, forming a canopy above their 
heads. No one was near, and, as he took her hand in 
his at parting, he raised it to his lips, pressing a warm 
kiss upon it, and before Irene could utter ar syllable in 
remonstrance he was gone. 

“I thought Mr. Raynor was here,” said the sharp 
voice of her mother from the door- way. 

‘‘He was here, but he has gone now,” Irene an- 
swered, quietly, as she turned and went slowly and 
thoughtfully up to her room. It was long after she 
had retired for the night before she fell asleep, being 
kept awake with busy thoughts. 

Why had Frank Raynor, a man of such high stand- 
ing in business and society, so far removed from her by 
position, age, and experience, moving in a different 
world from hers entirely, called upon her and invited 
her to go on this excursion in his company, when he 
might have chosen from the first families in the city 
a more suitable and agreeable companion ? Could it 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


79 


be, as Minnie had once said, that he cared for her a 
little ? The breath came choking, up in her throat at 
the thought; then, in vexation at herself for daring to 
so interpret his actions, she caught herself saying aloud, 
“ Of course, he is not in love with me, it could never 
be possible ; it must be that he pities my forlorn con- 
dition, and desires to bring some sunshine into my 
life.” So she tried to make herself believe ; and yet — 
and yet — there was his kiss on her hand. 

After Frank Raynor had taken leave of Irene so 
abruptly, he went at once to his room, — a pleasant 
apartment in the second story of a substantial frame 
house, with windows looking out on one of the pleas- 
antest streets in West Newbridge, and furnished in 
such a manner as to indicate the refined and luxurious 
taste of its occupant. When he had donned his dress- 
ing-gown and slippers, he seated himself before an 
open desk and wrote earnestly for some moments. He 
seemed not satisfied with what he had written, however, 
for, when he had finished, he paced the floor in deep 
thought, anon returning to the desk and reading it 
over ; and once, with elbows on the mantel, and with 
his chin resting on his two hands, he peered into the 
faces of the pictures of two women that were side by 
side, in an upright frame, standing there : the pictures 
of his mother and sister. 

It is of no use,” he said, at length, aloud, as he 
turned from an absorbing study of their faces, I am 
bound to make a fool of myself, anyway. I have 
avoided that little thing as much as I could ; I have 
sought to thrust her out of my thoughts and to forget 
her, — to think of any one else save her, — ^and with 


80 


mistaken paths. 


what result ? Here I have invited her to go with me 
to The Heights next Friday. It must be love that has 
possession of me. How did it ever steal into my heart 
without my knowledge? Not being able to overcome 
it, I will be obliged to succumb to its power. So what 
is the need of writing to my mother that I have fallen 
in love with a young girl whose mother is a bundle of 
arrogance and ignorance, and whose father is a me- 
chanic, — asking her to advise me, when all the while I 
know I will marry her in the end, even if the whole 
world objects ! No ! stop, my boy ! You will not 
marry her if she herself objects. This little creature 
who is so disturbing your peace of mind, and whose 
fair face, tender blue eyes, and mass of golden curls, is 
so constantly before you, — waking or sleeping, — she 
may not be as willing to look up with love and confi- 
dence in your face as you are to look down into hers. 
Bah ! I am losing my good judgment, indeed,^’ he said, 
as he pondered over that side of the question, to write 
a description of her, her people and surroundings, to 
my mother and sister, asking whether they considered 
with favor such an alliance for me, when she herself 
may never listen to me a moment after I have con- 
fessed my love and sought hers in return 

He walked towards the desk, took up the letter and 
tore it into pieces ; then, with a feeling of relief, he 
lighted a cigar and sat down to think ; and his thoughts 
were full of Irene Patton. The more he thought of 
her the more intense seemed to grow his love and en- 
thusiasm, until it reached such a pitch that he deter- 
mined without delay to fall at her feet as her suitor. 

He looked towards the clock on tlie mantel: ten 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


81 


minutes past eleven. Too late to think of it now. Be- 
sides, he must first win her or sacrifice his affection at 
a barren shrine. 


CHAPTER VII. 

“The Heights’^ was the name given to a plot of 
ground slightly elevated above the surrounding country, 
and situated about two miles and a half out of Newbridge. 
It was a woody section, rich in shade and pleasant 
breezes, with a clear stream of water — one of the lesser 

branches of the L River — running along one side, 

in which fish in large quantities were to be found in 
season, — making it an agreeable and popular resort for 
the people of Newbridge. 

A pleasanter spot in summer-time could not be de- 
sired by one anxious to get away from the busy world 
and enjoy solitude and quiet, broken only by the sing- 
ing of birds among the trees ; and with the companion- 
ship of congenial friends, its cooling shades offered 
enticement stronger than any place, occupation, or en- 
tertainment, in the dusty, smoky city. 

Almost every city and town, however unpretentious, 
has somewhere in its confines, or near its boundaries, 
just such an enchanting spot, a cosey nook, with a 
carpet of green sward and its decorations and adorn- 
ments, beautiful and varied, contributed and arranged 
to fill the heart’s desire by the greatest of all artists, — 
Nature. A place, in which, leaving all noise and care 
behind, to seek and secure rest and comfort. Did I say 
/ 


82 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


comfort? rather let me say that such a spot, with its 
soft, cool, green couches, where one may lie in the shade 
of a friendly tree, look about on the marvellous handi- 
work of God, and listen to the sweet voices of the sing- 
ing birds, offers more than that, — luxury ! 

Here, on The Heights,” late in the afternoon, on 
the Fourth of July, a merry party was seated about 
on the ground under the shade of a huge oak-tree that 
spread its leafy branches above them in kind protection 
from the scorching rays of the sun. 

It was the fishing party. They had long since ceased 
fishing, or rather their attempts at fishing, for, with the 
exception of two or three very small specimens, which 
had been thrown back into the stream as soon as caught, 
no fish had been taken from the water that day, save by 
one of their number who had wandered up the stream, 
a distance away from the rest, and returned just as they 
were about to partake of luncheon with a fine string 
of goodly-sized ones. The rest of the party attributed 
their failure to the fact that they had been over-hilari- 
ous, — laughing, talking, and merry-making as they had 
been constantly since their arrival. The day had been 
a very enjoyable one, the luncheon, which had been put 
up at the ^^Chesterfield,” the leading hotel at New- 
bridge, was eaten with much relish ; and, tired out from 
the day^s sport, they had seated themselves about on 
the ground, and were listening with much interest to a 
merry tale which Mr. Bird was reciting. 

Irene was there in their midst, attired in a plain 
white muslin; a rough straw hat, with wide brim 
shading her pretty face, trimmed in some white, 
soft material, with strings of the same tied beneath her 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


83 


chin ; seeming quite at her ease and looking so very 
fair, young, and innocent, and, withal, so radiantly 
beautiful that Frank Raynor could scarcely keep his 
eyes from off her. 

When he had called for her that morning she had 
seemed embarrassed, and the embarrassment had in- 
creased as they joined the rest of the party in the 
stage-coach that had been secured to convey them 
thither. It had all worn away, however, soon after 
their arrival at ^^The Heights”; and, as she became 
acquainted with those who were strangers to her before, 
she joined in their conversation as if she had been 
among them all her life. 

He was filled with pride and gratification as he noted 
this, and that she was the recipient of much attention 
from every one. 

wonder whatever possessed Frank Raynor to 
bring that Patton girl with him, to-day !” Belle Law- 
rence had said aside to Dora Clark, piqued at the atten- 
tion Irene was engrossing. 

^MVhy, don^t you like her?” said Dora. “I think 
she is charming ! He admires her, no doubt, and so 
do all the rest, evidently. Look there, now !” 

Mr. Bird, Mr. Cresson, and Sydney Lawrence were 
with Irene apart from the rest, watching with keen 
enjoyment her timid efforts to detach a small fish, 
which she had just caught, from her hook. 

“ She is such a child, and her people are so plebeian.” 

“So were mine, if by that you mean uneducated, 
working people,” replied outspoken Dora Clark ; “and 
they were good, honest, and respectable; but is that, 
do you think, a reason I should not be here ?” 


84 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


^^You are such a peculiar person,” replied Belle; 
“ so horribly in earnest always !” 

From that moment Dora Clark became interested in 
Irene. She went over to where she was standing and 
kept near her side, a self-appointed champion, the rest 
of the day, and in after-years became one of her truest 
friends. 

She was a woman of fine education and a finished 
musician ; ten years older than Irene. Her parents, both 
long since dead, had been as she had said, unlearned 
working people; she had known all the privations of 
poverty early in life, they having denied themselves 
many comforts that every available penny might be spent 
in educating her and improving her talent for music. 

Her reputation and social standing were irreproach- 
able, and her society was much sought after and en- 
joyed by all who knew her. She was a charming con- 
versationalist, possessing a sympathetic mind and heart, 
and a vein of humor that lent a delicious flavor to what 
she said. She was very plain in feature, though no one 
ever seemed to notice it, and she never forgot, nor made 
any endeavor to forget or conceal, any of the details of 
her early life, but talked freely and tenderly of her 
parents’ struggle with poverty in their efibrt to educate 
her. Perhaps it was this remembrance that led her to 
sympathize always and lend a helping hand to youth 
struggling for advancement against similar reverses; 
for her life was marked by acts of kindness and char- 
ity, and words of encouragement for the unfortunate 
and faltering. 

She had never talked with Irene Patton before, but 
had often noticed and admired her pretty face. Now 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


85 


she was drawn towards her irresistibly by the knowl- 
edge that her people were such as her own had been, 
and by the thought that she was probably now endur- 
ing some of the same privations and humiliations that 
had once been hers. 

That day was one long to be remembered by Irene. 
She had met new people, — such people as she had often 
desired to become acquainted with, — and they had all* 
been kind to her; she had been in the midst of intelli- 
gence and refinement, and understood more clearly 
than ever before what Frank Raynor had meant to 
convey to her in the talk they had had together the 
night of the social. It came to an end all too soon for 
her, for returning home meant the awakening from a 
liappy dream to stern, unpleasant reality. 

When they were back in the city, one of the party, 
Mrs. Barron, invited Irene with the rest to come to her 
house and witness a display of fireworks that evening, 
but she declined as gracefully as she could, saying that 
she was expected home. 

Why do you not go with them ?’’ she inquired of 
Frank, as he bade adieu to the rest and turned to 
accompany her. 

And leave you to return alone? Oh, Irene 
Why not? I am not afraid. It is early yet, and 
I am used to going about alone ; it is too bad for you 
to miss the pleasure on my account.’^ 

It will be no pleasure without you, Irene, even if 
it were not the proper thing for me to escort you home, 
having taken you from there on this expedition. I 
would rather have one moment of your society than 
hours with the rest.^’ 


8 


86 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


You say that to flatter me. Don’t, I beg of you. 

I feel as if you were laughing at me ” 

Laughing at you ! Surely you do not think me so 
unmanly.” 

They were passing by the corner on which his house 
stood. Irene, looking up at it, saw by the bare windows 
and deserted aspect that it was empty, and not heeding 
his last remark, said, in surprise, — 

Why, is there no one living here, now?” 

“No; it was vacated the first of the month,” he 
answered, gravely. Then, stopping in front of the 
gate, he said, “ Do you like the place, Irene?” 

“ Indeed I do ! I wish we might live here, or even 
in this neighborhood, instead of in that horrid old 
street where we do.” 

“ You may live here if you will ; the house shall 
belong to you and be your home, if you will only let 
me share it with you.” 

He spoke so calmly that Irene looked up at him in 
amazement when he had finished. 

“ Why, Mr. Raynor, — why do you talk in that way 
to me ?” 

“ Because I love you, Irene ; because I want to take 
you away from the influences that now surround you, 
and devote my life to your service, and to securing your 
advancement and happiness. I want you for my wife, 
to walk by my side through life. Can you not under- 
stand and return my affection a little?” 

While he was speaking her slight form quivered 
perceptibly. When he paused, she waited a moment 
before making reply, and spoke finally, her voice 
trembling as if in affright, — 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 87 

I, — it seems so very strange. I hardly know how 
to take you, Mr. Kaynor.’^ 

‘‘ Take me as I mean : I love you ; I love you ; I 
want you to be my wife. Do you love me in return ? 
and are you willing to take me as your husband? 
That is what I have been trying to say.” 

She could not fail to understand him now, and her 
face crimsoned as she answered, — 

I don’t know, Mr. Daynor ; I have never thought 
of marrying; the idea of it now is so odd to me. I 
like you very much, I am sure, but ” 

You do not love me?” he faltered. 

I do not know. Let me have time to think it all 
over; a little while, an hour, a day, then I can tell 
you.” 

A month if you require it, only try, all the time, 
to bring your heart in sympathy with mine.” 

She made a move to continue on their homeward 
way, and he proceeded with her. 

Irene, you think what I have said is very strange, 
don’t you?” he continued ; ^^you are surprised at it.” 

She inclined her head in silent reply. 

Shall I tell you how I grew to love you?” 

Again she bowed assent. 

Well, you first attracted me when, as a pupil, you 
sat before me in Sunday-school, — the only attentive 
one in the whole class. For you every Saturday I 
took out my Bible and text-book and studied carefully 
the lesson for the ensuing day, that I might be better 
able to answer intelligently the questions that you might 
ask me. I am not a member of any church, nor a ])ro- 
fessing Christian; yet, through my close companion- 


88 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


ship and friendship with Mr. Bird, whom I knew as a 
college-mate, I became a regular attendant at his church 
and Sabbath-school; and at his solicitation took the 
class. You used to ask me questions I could not 
answer, owing to my lack of acquaintance with Bible 
history ; and on that account, mainly, I resigned my 
position as teacher, and recommended that some one 
more capable and efficient be given it. After I became 
one of the members of Mr. Bird’s class I used often to 
watch you. I could almost tell what you were saying 
by the changing expressions of your face. When you 
were absent I missed you. I became interested in you, 
and often regretted that my place had been assigned to 
another. Then that day I saw you crying on your way 
to school, you looked so sad, so wretched, and unhappy, 
that I pitied you. Later, when you told me the cause 
of your trouble, and how the lack of love, sympathy, 
and harmony made your life at home a burden, I 
grieved for you, and thought of you so constantly, that, 
before I was aware, love came to live in my heart, 
increasing each hour until now it is filled with love 
for you, and your image is before me waking or sleep- 
ing. You can make my future so happy if you will 
but share it with me. Tell me, does this recital awaken 
no response in your breast? Can you not begin to think 
of me in your plans for the future, and associate me 
with them ? Do you not realize what love is, and 
treasure a little in your heart for me ?” 

She did not answer him, being overcome with a 
feeling that seemed more like fear than love. 

They had reached her home. On the veranda in 
front of the house were seated her father and mother 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


89 


and two women, friends of theirs from a neighboring 
village: so there was no opportunity for continuing the 
conversation. 

Frank Raynor lifted his hat in recognition of Mr. 
and Mrs. Patton, as he opened the gate for Irene. 

Won’t you come in, Mr. Raynor?” called out Mrs. 
Patton. 

think not this evening,” he answered, looking 
inquiringly at Irene. 

She did not second her mother’s invitation, for she 
did not want Frank Raynor to talk with vulgar Mrs. 
Smithers and her daughter; but said only, — 

^‘I want a little time to think over what you have 
been saying. I cannot now interpret the state of my 
feelings towards you, they are so different since you have 
spoken.” 

God grant it may be love that you feel, and are not 
now able to understand !” he said, earnestly, and touch- 
ing his hat again to the company on the veranda, he 
walked away. 


CHAPTER VIIL 

Irene then spoke to the visitors. She had simply 
bowed in recognition of them as she stopped in front 
of the gate. 

You’re getting to be quite a young lady, to have 
such a smart young man as that for a beau,” said fat, 
greasy Mrs. Smithers, shaking her sides in laughter, 
8 * 


90 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


as if she had said something very funny. Purty soon 
you’ll be getting married, fust we know.” 

Oh, he is only a friend of the family, not a beau ; 
Irene’s too young to think of beaus yet,” explained 
Mrs. Patton. Irene was too much annoyed to make 
any reply. 

You can go in and eat your supper, Irene. I left the 
table standing for you ; and then do up the dishes when 
you are through,” continued Mrs. Patton. 

Oh, dear !” said Irene, wearily, dropping down on 
the uppermost step of the veranda, and fanning herself 
with her hat. She knew what was meant by ‘leaving 
the table standing for her,” — a hot room, a cooked 
supper, and extra dishes on account of the company. 

^‘Oh, dear,” unconsciously the words escaped her 
again, “ I am so tired and not a bit hungry.” 

Well, then, hurry up with the dishes, and you can 
rest so much sooner.” 

There was no other way to do, so she arose, went 
back to the kitchen, and gathered up the dishes in angry 
haste. 

June, who was out in the back yard lighting fire- 
crackers with some of the neighbors’ children, came in 
to tell her how she had been to a picnic with the girls 
next door, and how they had had ice-cream and pop- 
corn and candy ; talking in such an excited manner, as 
she followed her from the kitchen to the dining-room 
and back again, that Irene turned on her sharply and 
said, — 

“Stop that everlasting prattle and get out of my 
way!” when she went meekly and quietly out into 
the yard again. Irene, reproached by her gentle sub- 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


91 


mission, was on the point of calling her back when, 
hearing her merry laugh outside, she knew that the 
hasty words had already been forgotten, and the child 
was happier where she was. 

With sleeves rolled above her elbows and a huge 
dark gingham apron tied about her neck and waist, 
while engaged in washing the dishes, she fell to won- 
dering what Frank Raynor would think of her could 
he see her thus, red-faced and ill-natured as she was ; 
and became so absorbed that she never noticed Miss 
Smithers enter the room until, in a loud, coarse voice, 
she said, — 

^^ni dry the dishes for you;’’ when, starting in 
affright, she let fall to the floor a glass fruit-dish which 
she had in her hands, and it was shivered into a myriad 
of small pieces. 

Oh, dear !” was all she could say, as she heard the 
hurried, heavy tread of her mother coming through the 
hallway back into the kitchen. 

‘^It was all my fault, Mrs. Patton,” said Miss 
Smithers. I didn’t mean to, but I frightened her.” 
Mrs. Patton never heeded what she was saying, but, 
glancing at the broken dish, almost shrieked, — 

My glass fruit-dish ! that I’ve had ever since I was 
married ! You’re never satisfied, Irene, unless you’re 
destroying everything you get your hands on. Take 
that ! and that !” she said, ignoring Miss Smithers’s 
presence, and, carried away by her anger, administer- 
ing two sharp raps with her brawny hands on Irene’s 
ears. I’ll teach you to break my dishes every time 
you touch them !” Miss Smithers returned to the 
veranda in haste ; but Irene, stung to frenzy with the 


92 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


pain and humiliation she had been made to suffer on 
account of the accident, glared at her mother an in- 
stant, tossed her head haughtily while untying her 
work-apron, and, throwing it at her feet, said, in a de- 
termined voice, — 

Wash your own dishes hereafter, for I’ll never 
wash another one in this house so long as I live!” 
Then hurried out of the room, giving the dish-towel, 
which had fallen to the floor, a contemptuous kick out 
of her way in passing. 

She went to her room, where, locking herself in, she 
remained, crying and bemoaning her unhappy lot, 
until, some time after, hearing the gate close, and 
knowing, from the snatches of conversation that had 
come up from below through the open window, that 
the others had gojie to another part of the city to 
witness a display of fireworks, and she was left alone 
in the house, she brushed back her curls, bathed her 
face in cool water, and went down-stairs and out on 
the veranda. 

^^Let him come now so soon as he wishes; my an- 
swer is ready; I will marry him, and escape this life 
of servitude,” she said, as she seated herself in the 
fading twilight. 

The figure of a man stopped hesitatingly in front of 
the gate soon after, and a low voice said, — 

^‘May I come in, Irene?” 

He had come sooner than she had anticipated. 

^^Oh, Mr. Raynor!” she said, recognizing the voice 
at once. Yes, do come in ; I am all alone.” 

“ So I thought when I saw the rest of the family 
and their visitors pass by my window without you, a 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


93 


little while ago ; and I could not make up my mind to 
remain away, but thought I would just walk by and 
see if you were home and would like my company.” 

Yes ; I am so glad you are here now, because — 
because I was just wishing I could see you. IVe been 
thinking over all you said to me, and I want to tell 
you that I will be what you have asked, your wife.” 
She spoke with determined and excited earnestness. 
In an instant his strong arms enfolded her, and he was 
pressing kisses on her lips. 

Irene, you make me so happy. Some kind spirit 
must have directed me hither to-night,” he said, pas- 
sionately. She did not respond to his caresses, but, 
taking out her handkerchief, held it to her eyes a 
moment. 

^^You are crying,” he said. ^^Tell me, Irene, for I 
want to hear you say it, — you love me ?” 

‘‘Yes, surely I do; and will be happy with you, too, 
Mr. Kaynor, — so much happier than I am now !” Her 
answer did not satisfy him. 

“ Have you had any new trouble at home that has 
brought you to a hasty decision ? Answer me frankly 
and truly.” 

She hesitated but a moment only, — it was too dark for 
him to see her face distinctly, — then said, — 

“ Why do you ask ?” 

“ Only to satisfy myself that no unpleasant expe- 
rience here at home has led you to a decision that 
you might hereafter regret when it is too late ; because 
I do not want you to marry me for the sake of escap- 
ing an unhappy home-life ; such a union could only 
result in a lifetime^ of wretchedness. I want your 


94 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


love; that only will satisfy me. Let me hear you 
say that you love me 

do love you,” she answered him, timidly; ^^more, 
much more than any one I know or have ever known.” 

That is all I want to know, Irene. If you truly 
love me, we cannot fail to be happy together,” he said ; 
and he lingered by her side, breathing tender words in 
her ear and talking over plans for their future. She 
could not understand the compass of the love he por- 
trayed, and tried vainly to imagine her own feeling ex- 
panding, with time, into such a volume of affection. 
She looked up to him as to one beyond her, — above 
her, — was flattered that he had chosen her to become 
his wife, and believed this feeling to be all that was re- 
quired, — a feeling of high esteem and profound respect. 
When he kissed her lips and spoke rapturously and 
enthusiastically of their marriage, her position seemed 
unnatural and her ideas, in reaching after the same joy 
that he seemed to experience, strained. She listened 
silently, hearing yet not appreciating what he was 
saying. 

Of what are you thinking?” he inquired, suddenly, 
noticing her silent abstraction. 

^^I?” she questioned, trying to recall what he had 
last said ; why, I was thinking of how differently I 
had planned my future, never dreaming of marriage.” 

Is it difficult for you to relinquish those plans and 
reconcile yourself to the change ?” 

‘^Difficult? No, perhaps they could never have 
been realized. I had planned to work them out alone. 
I had hoped to rise in the world through my own exer- 
tions ; I saw no other way,” she answered him, dreamily. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


95 


But uow you will rise just the same, and let me 
help you and progress with you ; we will work together 
for advancement. It will be better so,” he said, earn- 
estly. A woman alone in the world is a sorry sight ; 
society is thinking always she has no business alone in 
its midst. The battle of advancement is impeded by 
many stumbling-blocks; and no matter how capable, 
how talented she may be, without a sympathetic heart 
to beat in unison with her own, unless she be undaunt- 
able, there is rarely but one result, — discouragement, 
wavering, and final failure.” 

What he was saying was interrupted just then by 
the approach of Irene’s parents and June. They came 
back alone, their visitors having left them to go with 
other friends. 

Shall I speak to your father and mother now, and 
seek their approval of our engagement?” Frank in- 
quired, in a low voice. ^ 

^^Is that necessary?” she answered him. 

“ It is better to do so, and proper.” 

Then wait until to-morrow. Do not speak with 
them now, please do not,” she said, entreatingly. So, 
after exchanging a few words of greeting with them 
only, he took his leave ; and Irene, anxious to avoid 
her mother and the questions she was certain to ask, 
went directly to her room. 

The following day Frank Raynor called to seek from 
Mr. and Mrs. Patton a confirmation of his engagement 
with Irene. Their surprise at his request may be 
readily imagined. On Mrs. Patton especially the dis- 
closure of his affection produced a marvellous effect. 
So great was her surprise that for a few moments 


96 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


she, who felt in duty bound at all times to act as 
spokesman for the whole family when any decision was 
to be arrived at or request granted, was speechless, and 
her husband, feeling consideration for the embarrass- 
ment which he knew Frank must be laboring under on 
account of the silence, ventured to say, — 

guess we have no objections, Sarah. If Mr. 
Baynor wants to marry Irene, and she’s willing, I 
guess we be, eh ?” 

This outburst of her husband brought her to her 
senses immediately, and casting a glance of withering 
reproof on him for daring to give his daughter for the 
asking, that had its effect in silencing him for the rest 
of the interview, she said, — 

I don’t know as Irene’s old enough to think of 
marrying yet ; besides, she haint never sewed a stitch 
in her life, to speak of, and couldn’t make a shirt to 
save her soul ; and as to house-work, why, she don’t 
seem to learn how to do nothing, though goodness 
knows I’ve tried to do my duty by her and train her, 
but she don’t seem to take kindly to it nohow. I don’t 
believe now, after all my fussing and trying to learn 
her, that she could cook a meal of victuals fit to eat ! ” 

Frank could scarcely listen with perfect self-control, 
and interrupted her by saying, in a grave voice, — 

I do not want your daughter for a servant, I want 
her for a companion.” 

Mrs. Patton felt the delicate reproof, but contented 
herself with saying, — 

Oh, well, if you are able and willing to support her 
in idleness, why that will just suit her, and I have no 
objection, but it’s more than we can do.” 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


97 


Then you both consent to our marriage 
“ Yes,” answered Mrs. Patton, speaking for both, 
and grasping the hand of each, Frank Raynor thank- 
fully expressed himself satisfied, though he could never 
afterwards help having a feeling of contempt for Mrs. 
Patton on account of what she had said of Irene at 
that interview. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Xo time was set for the marriage, but it was tacitly 
understood that it would take place as soon as Frank’s 
house could be made ready for their reception. 

A small diamond in a plain setting glistened on the 
third finger of Irene’s left hand in token of her en- 
gagement. 

She held out her hand to Minnie Barnes, one morn- 
ing, that she might notice it. 

Ho you know what that means?” she asked. 

No ; tell me,” answered Minnie. 

It means that I have promised to marry Frank 
Raynor.” 

You marry him !” said Minnie, in evident sur- 
prise. 

Yes ; why not ?” asked Irene, vested at her manner. 

No reason why you should' not, I am sure ; only 
you laughed at me once when I told you he cared for 
you ; and the other day you were going to be such a 
great artist, with never a thought of marrying.” 

Minnie was beginning to realize that her friend had 

^ g 9 


98 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


been drifting away from her ever since that day she had 
brought up the sketches to show to her, and she was much 
troubled in consequence ; besides, she had noticed, at the 
same time that she had discovered his admiration for 
Irene, that Frank Kaynor evidently disliked her, and 
she was piqued and not a little annoyed now at the 
knowledge of the prospective change in her friend^s 
affairs, which promised to drive them further apart. 
Nevertheless, she pretended to be pleased, and said, — 

I am delighted to hear of your good fortune,-— for 
surely it is a piece of extraordinary good fortune. So 
many will envy you. And when you are mistress in 
that lovely house of his, I shall come often to spend 
whole days with you, won’t I ?” 

Ah ! those were the thoughts and expressions that 
made Irene happier, — not love ; and she smiled content- 
edly as she pictured this change in her life. 

^^Love? What is love?” she asked herself once. 
She could not answer. Her heart never quickened its 
beating at her affianced’s approach ; she never longed 
for his coming, nor regretted his absence, as he said he 
always did hers. 

She was always pleased to see him, and sometimes 
grew a little weary when he stayed too long, and was 
glad when he went away. She loved better to hear 
him talk of his plans for improving the house that was 
to be their future home than to hear him tell of his 
love for her ; and she would rather talk with him when 
others were about than to be alone with him. He 
noticed this, but attributed it to her youth and inex- 
perience, not to a want of proper affection ; and she ex- 
plained it to herself by saying that the love of a woman 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


99 


must be different from the love of a man, or else she 
was incapable of feeling such strong affection as some 
did. At any rate, she was satisfied, and what more 
could be desired ? 

Time passed swiftly. The news of their engagement 
became whispered about. Mrs. Patton no longer spoke 
sharply to Irene, nor found fault with what she would 
do, but allowed her to pursue her own inclinations 
without any restraint or rebuke. 

They had a servant employed now to do the rough 
work of the house ; Mrs. Patton feeling that a servant 
was necessary to keep up the dignity of their home 
since her husband had been made foreman, and Frank 
Raynor was to be her son-in-law, never willing to 
acknowledge that it was because her health and strength 
would no longer allow her to continue, as formerly, in 
the beaten path. In consequence of all these changes, 
Irene became almost happy at home. 

One evening early in August Frank Raynor was 
hurrying towards the home of the Pattons full of glad 
thoughts, as his countenance too plainly betokened. 
He was always made happier by the prospect of seeing 
Irene; but that day he had learned that his house 
would be finished inside of a week, and with this 
assurance a day could be set for his marriage. 

There was no reason for delaying it, because both 
Irene and himself had decided on a plain and strictly 
private home ceremony, that was to take place so soon 
as the house was habitable; and they intended to begin 
life together at once within its walls. It had needed 
but few repairs, but some improvements had been 
added, and now in a week all was to be finished. 


100 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


Irene’s face was radiant as she met him at the door. 
That she had something new to communicate to him 
he could read in her eyes, and as soon as they were 
inside the little parlor she burst forth, — 

We had a letter from my aunt Mollie to-day, and 
she wants me to come and visit her in New York a 
little while. She has sent the money necessary to 
defray my expenses ; and mother says I may go, if 
you have no objection to offer, and are willing I should 
go, — and you are willing, are you not? Only for a 
little while,” she added, as she noticed a cloud over- 
spread his face. “You see. Aunt Mollie is used to 
society and gay company, and is so lonesome now, 
living, as she must, in retirement while in mourning.” 

“And she wants you to keep her company?” he 
inquired, gravely. 

“ Yes, for a little while only.” 

“ But who will keep me company while you are 
away? I shall be lonely, then,. too.” 

“You do not wish me to go, then?” 

“ If you want to go, I have no right to object.” 

“ I have never been away from Newbridge since we 
came here. I would like to see New York very much ; 
only, of course, I should not think of going there if 
you wished me not to go.” 

“You would not, Irene,” he said, earnestly, his eyes 
beaming with love for her ; “ you would not go if I 
asked you to remain here ?” He did not wait for her 
to answer. “ Well, I will not be selfish, and stand in 
the way of your pleasure for the sake of my own. Go, 
if you want to, and your parents are willing, and you 
will not remain from me long.” 




MISTAKEN PATHS. 


101 


do not know just how long I would be away; 
but only a little while, of course ; for you know I can- 
not remain long away just now/’ 

Irene, I cannot bear to think of your leaving me 
when we have just learned to love each other, and are 
just beginning to plan for our future together. I 
dread the hours and days that will intervene until your 
return ; and yet— and yet — you have never been to a 
city like New York ; perhaps it will be pleasant for you 
to visit a short time there before you assume the 
duties of married life; and we will go often together 
after we are wedded. Life is so different there from 
what it is here. You must not become enraptured 
with it and want to remain away. Assure me again 
that you love me truly, promise me that, if you go 
away, you will not forget me, but will come back soon, 
very soon, — and be my wife; promise it all over again 
faithfully.” He had grown very much excited while 
he spoke, and his voice trembled with emotion as he 
uttered the last sentence. 

Why, Frank, you don’t think my going to New 
York to visit my aunt will make any difference in my 
feeling for you, do you ?” 

‘‘I don’t know — I don’t know; it might. You may 
not like to come back to Newbridge to live. I am 
obliged to remain here ; my position in business re- 
quires it.” 

Not come back to Newbridge ? Why, even if you 
did not exist, I should have to come back ; my home 
is here !” 

Yes, I know ; but your aunt might want you to 
remain with her ; to make your home with her. Will 

9 * 


102 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


you not promise me what I have asked ? It will be 
of so much gratification to me/’ 

Yes, Frank, I will promise not to forget you, to 
continue to love you, and to return and be your wife,” 
she said, seriously. 

And soon ?” he added. 

And to return to you very soon,” she said, laugh- 
ing lightly as she spoke. Now are you quite satisfied 
to have me go?” 

Yes.” He heaved a deep sigh of relief, and then 
talked freely to her about her prospective visit, with 
many kind words of love and advice interspersing his 
conversation. He made no mention of the house that 
was almost ready to receive her. It will be time 
enough to speak of that when she returns,” he 
thought. 

Yet his peace of mind was much disturbed as he 
walked homeward that evening ; he could scarcely be- 
come reconciled, even after having given his consent, 
to allowing her fair young face to leave his sight, even 
for a short time. 

She will see a different life there from that to which 
she has always been accustomed, and meet with differ- 
ent people. Perhaps it is better that she should go ; 
she will doubtless shine in her own home with greater 
brilliancy for the knowledge she will there glean.” 
So he argued in seeking to console himself. 

Irene readily obtained her mother’s consent to her 
paying the visit, after telling her that Mr. Raynor 
thought it better that she should see a little of life in 
the East before she married ; and a time was set for her 
to start on the journey just one week from the day on 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


103 


which the letter had been received, and preparations 
for the visit were begun. 

The little old-fashioned trunk was brought down 
from the garret, where it had stood so many years un- 
disturbed. The dust was brushed off from its cover, 
and Irene’s clothes packed neatly and carefully away 
inside. 

Radiant with expectancy and enthusiasm, the days 
intervening before the time of her departure seemed to 
Irene to drag slowly their unending length along. But 
for Frank, who vainly attempted to keep up a light 
heart and cheerful demeanor before her, the time passed 
swiftly, and the hour of parting came all too soon. 


CHAPTER X. 

A SAD little trio stood in front of the depot at New- 
bridge, awaiting the arrival of the east-bound pas- 
senger train, on the evening of Irene’s departure. 

It consisted of her father, her lover, and herself. 
It was so late in the evening that Mrs. Patton and 
June had not accompanied them, but had spoken their 
farewells at the house before she had left ; and now that 
a telegram had been sent to Mrs. Bostwick, and the 
little trunk had been checked to its destination, the 
gloom that fell over them was hard to throw off. 

Now you stay in the car until you reach New 
York ; don’t you get out once or change into another 
car,” her father said to her for the twentieth time. 


104 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


as he fidgeted about nervously. It was the first time 
she had ever gone away from home alone, and he 
found it difficult to reconcile himself to the idea of her 
leaving now. 

^^Yes, papa; I’ll do just as you tell me,” said Irene, 
brushing away a tear. Tlie joy of pleasurable antici- 
pation which had brightened life for the past week was 
swallowed up and forgotten in the pain of parting 
from home. 

She had not believed she would mind leaving so 
very much. Life there had been stormy and unpleasant 
ofttimes; but the trials were all forgotten now, and she 
remembered only what was pleasant. 

Her mother had wept as she kissed and bade her 
good-by. How strange that kiss had seemed, the first 
she had given her in years! June had clung to her 
with her arms about her neck and tears in her bright 
eyes, entreating her not to leave her. Her father’s 
voice trembled more and more each time he repeated 
the advice just given; and Frank kept her hand on 
his arm, pressing it firmly with his, as he said, with 
assumed cheerfulness, — 

You must write to me often, Irene, every day if 
you will, so I will not miss you so much.” 

“Yes, Frank,” she replied, and the tears she had 
been striving to keep back fell in spite of her. 

“Don’t you want to go, darling?” he said. 

“ Yes, yes, I want to go ; but I can’t help crying 
when you all seem to feel so badly ; you make me feel 
sad.” 

“It is but natural we should feel sorry to lose you, 
even for so short a time; we will all miss you so much. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


105 


though we want you to go, because it will be a pleasant 
trip, and you will surely enjoy your visit. Is it not so, 
Mr. Patton f ' 

“ Yes, yes,” said John Patton, grasping Frank’s 
hand in his own and shaking it with fervor, as if to 
thank him for expressing just what he himself wanted 
to say. 

The train steamed in ; Irene spoke a hasty good-by 
to her father, and Frank entered the car with her, saw 
her seated, kissed her many times hurriedly and pas- 
sionately, murmuring God bless you,” was gone, 
and the train was moving on almost before she could 
realize her situation. She gazed about her in a dazed 
manner. The porter was engaged in making up the 
berth in front of her; two men were seated opposite, 
carrying on a subdued conversation ; the curtains hung 
about, showing where other berths were occupied already. 
It was all new and strange to her; and she watched 
with eager curiosity the movements of the porter and 
passengers that she might see how everything was 
managed, and not betray ignorance where she could 
avoid it. 

The conductor looked over her tickets, the men op- 
posite went behind the curtains of the berths the porter 
had just made up, and Irene took the seat they had 
vacated, while he arranged her section. 

When all was in readiness she retired to her couch, 
but the strangeness of her surroundings, the jolting of 
the car, and her thoughts of those left behind, all so 
disturbed her that she could not rest. The train was 
speeding on its course, putting more miles each hour 
between her and her home. She drew the sheet up 


106 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


over her head, and cried softly to herself as she wished 
she had never left it. So do night-thoughts chase away 
the desires and longings of the daylight, bringing regret 
and repentance with them. 

Would the daylight never come again ? Yes. Worn 
out with the weariness of over-excitement, she fell asleep 
at last, and another day had long held sway, and the 
people all about her were stirring, before she awoke 
again. 

When the long journey was ended and the conductor 
had passed through the train calling “ all out,” she took 
up her satchel and followed the rest of the passengers 
out of the cars as she had been instructed. 

She was much confused by the noise and bustle 
and the crowds of people on all sides, and with much 
joy and relief caught sight of her aunt’s maid in waiting 
for her. 

Ah, Miss Irene, I have much pleasure in seeing 
you here in New York,” was Favette’s greeting. 

Where is Aunt Mollie?” Irene inquired, eagerly 
and excitedly. 

She feels not very well, and waits at home to wel- 
come you.” 

Irene was much impressed by the coachman and 
footman in livery, and the carriage in waiting for her ; 
but when she reached her aunt’s home and received 
the warm welcome that awaited her, and looked about 
over the soft carpet, rich rugs, upholstery, furniture, 
paintings and statuary, the curtains and draperies of 
silk and lace, the mirrors and costly bric-a-brac, she 
wondered whether she were awake or dreaminor, unable 
to speak at first, being overcome with the richness and 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


107 


beauty of her surroundings, so far beyond anything she 
had ever seen or imagined. Turning her eyes finally 
towards her aunt, who was sitting near her, looking 
more beautiful than ever in her mourning robes, and 
quietly waiting for her to recover from her surprise, 
Irene impulsively threw herself at her feet, and burying 
her face in her lap, burst into tears. 

“ Why, Irene, are you sorry you came 

“ Oh, no, no ; I am glad. Glad I am here with you 
where everything is so lovely,’’ she said, putting both 
arms about her aunt’s neck and kissing her fondly. 

“ Come, then ; don’t cry, and I will show you to your 
room. It is next to mine. I thought you would like 
that ; and you can bathe your face and hands and make 
ready for breakfast.” 

It was a beautiful little room into which Mrs. Bost- 
wick ushered her, — all blue and white; curtains of 
white lace with lambrequins of blue, soft velvet carpet 
of blue and white, with white fur rugs scattered about, 
and a little bed in one corner with draperies of blue and 
white; a dream of fairyland it seemed to Irene. Her 
aunt sat down in one of the low chairs, talking rapidly 
to her all the while she made a hasty toilet. 

“ It was so nice of you to come to me, my dear, and 
we will have a nice little visit together. Tiiat is a very 
pretty travelling suit you have on. Did your mother 
make it for you ?” 

Yes,” answered Irene, glancing down at the plain 
gray costume, dusty from travel, and wondering what 
her aunt saw that was pretty about it. 

I had no idea she could succeed half so well. But 
you show off the dress, of course, and you will look 


108 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


charming in some of my dresses when they are made 
over to suit you, for I am going to have them made 
over for you. I can wear them no longer on account 
of being in mourning, and they will be all out of date 
before long, so just as soon as I knew you were 
coming, I engaged three sewing- women to come here 
and begin work on them at once. You see, we will 
go to Long Branch next week to remain a while, and 
although we will live very quietly there, I want you to 
be well dressed all the time, and, of course, you have 
nothing now that will be suitable.’’ 

“Are you going to visit at Long Branch?” inquired 
Irene, regretting that they were to leave the city so soon. 

“ Oh, no ; we will live there a few weeks in Mrs. 
Frothingham’s cottage. She is in Europe now, and has 
placed it at my disposal for the season.” 

“ Would you not rather live here in New York than 
there?” inquired Irene. 

“Dear me, no! everybody goes to the seaside or 
country in the summer. I should have been away 

long ago myself, only There is the breakfast- 

bell I Come ! are you ready ? We will go down, then, 
at once, for you must be very hungry.” And, putting 
an arm about her niece’s waist, she led her down-stairs. 

As they entered the breakfast-room, a gentleman 
advanced to greet them. 

“ This is your cousin Robert, Irene,” said Mrs. Bost- 
wick, introducing him. 

Irene had forgotten that her aunt had a son, not 
hearing her speak of him ; and, as he held out his 
hand towards her, she placed her own within it, though 
unable to speak a word to him. He smiled pleasantly, 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


109 


saying he was happy to welcome her into their little 
family, and placed a seat at the table for her. She 
thanked him in a low voice, glancing up into his face, 
only to drop her eyes hastily again on her plate upon 
meeting his looking kindly and admiringly on her. It 
seemed to her as if the meal would never come to an 
end. Both her aunt and her cousin tried to engage 
her in conversation by talking freely and easily of 
what they thought would interest her, yet without 
avail. Siie was vexed at her stupidity, and tried 
to overcome the embarrassment under which she 
was laboring; but, somehow or other, she could think 
of nothing but her plain gray dress, so out of keeping 
with the luxurious surroundings, and finally, upon 
making a quick nervous movement of her hand, she 
overturned the cup of coffee at her side, its contents 
spreading in a muddy blot upon the white cover of 
the table. Tears came to her eyes then, and looking 
plaintively towards her aunt, she begged to be excused, 
and hurried from the room. 

IVe frightened her, mother,’’ said Robert, as she 
closed the door behind her. 

“Yes; she was not expecting to meet you here, I 
guess; I had forgotten to speak of you. Besides, I 
should not wonder if she were a little homesick. I 
believe it is the first time she has been away from home 
alone.” 

“ Homesick ! so soon ! I hope not. She is like a 
beautiful doll. It would be delicious if we could have 
her with us always.” 

“ Ah, I am glad to hear you say so ; it is my own 
idea. I think I will follow her, or she will cry herself 
10 


no 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


sick alone.” And, rising from the table, Mrs. Bost- 
wick went in search of her. 

Before a week had passed, Irene had entirely recov- 
ered from any feeling of embarrassment in her cousin’s 
presence and was able to talk to him with the ease of 
old acquaintance. 

Her time was so taken up by him and her aunt 
and the sewing-women that she found little time to 
write to her lover. She had promi.sed to write a letter 
every day ; but there had been so much to look at and 
to talk about, and so many things to be accomplished 
before they should leave for Long Branch, that she 
could not find the time. She had written this to him 
by way of apology, and suppressing the disappointment 
he experienced, he tried to comfort himself with the 
thought that she was happy and enjoying herself. A 
portion of the third letter he received from her, how- 
ever, caused him much uneasiness. It read ; 

I have seen but very little of New York, after all, 
Aunt Mollie tells me. We have only driven out in a 
close carriage early in the morning or before sundown 
in the evening. She says almost every one is away at 
the seashore or in the country this time of the year; 
but when we return from Long Branch, where we are 
going to-morrow to spend a few weeks, we will go 
about much more, and attend the theatres and opera, 
and visit the art galleries, and every other place of 
interest worth seeing here.” 

A few weeks at the seaside, and return to the city 
wdien fashionable life began there! — he knew how 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


Ill 


long that meant. Was it possible that she could remain 
away from him all that time? When she went away 
it was for a month only ; and here she was planning 
for three months at least. It was difficult for him to 
reconcile himself to this change in the original plan ; 
and he paced the floor excitedly, wrote twice and thrice 
a reply in anger, and each time tore it into pieces. 
He finally decided to ignore that part of her letter 
which foreshadowed a longer visit than she had 
planned, and to write as calmly and as lovingly as had 
been his wont, not referring in any way to the time of 
her coming back, but trusting to her heart to dictate a 
speedy return. 

“Surely, if she loves me truly, even one-tenth part 
as much as I love her, she will not be able to remain 
away from my side so long as she now anticipates,’^ he 
argued. 

So he wrote cheerfully a long epistle, telling her 
he was pleased to know of her enjoyment of her sur- 
roundings, and that he wished he might be with her, 
to be made happy by seeing her pleasure ; and many 
other things he wrote, such as only one who loves 
sincerely, and is separated from the object of his aftec- 
tion, will think of writing ; and he asked at the close 
of his letter whether she had told her aunt and cousin 
of their engagement. 

Yes, Irene had told her aunt about her engagement 
and plans for the future, the day after her arrival, when 
Mrs. Bostwick had noticed the little diamond on her 
finger, and asked its meaning ; and she had frowned 
and said, — 

“ It is unfortunate ; you are too young yet to think 


112 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


of marriage. Mr. Raynor, did you say ? Any con- 
nection of the Raynors of Boston? The same 
family ? ah ! How did it come about ? Once they 
were the first people of Boston. Rich, too; but the 
old man foolishly speculated, — he should have known 
better, — and lost everything. The daughter married 
Mr. Chillingworth, who is very rich and highly re- 
spected. But this brother, — I have not heard of him. 
Is he rich or poor ? He is of good family; but, my dear 
child, you might do better by waiting, and have as good 
family and money besides. How did it all come about ? 
Tell me. But, of course, he fell in love with your pretty 
face. A prince might do the same, and make you a 
princess. And you think of marrying this fall, too? 
Nonsense, child ; you don’t know what you are about. 
Wait awhile. See more of the world and people. If 
he loves you he will be willing to wait, and you may 
be able to do better. Certainly you will lose naught 
by waiting.” 

The words sank deep in Irene’s breast. Many 
times afterwards she pondered over them as she saw 
her cousin’s eyes smiling down into hers, thinking that 
perhaps her aunt was right, after all, and deciding to 
be in no hurry to marry, but to enjoy a little longer 
the freedom of single life. That she still loved Frank 
Raynor as much as she was capable of loving any one, 
she never doubted for a moment. But city life was 
enchanting to her, and her cousin was most agreeable 
and entertaining. She wanted to remain free a little 
longer. 

She did not write this, nor what her aunt had advised, 
to Frank. Her instinct told her it would not be wise. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


113 


But one afternoon, in the cottage at the seaside, when 
she was putting on her gloves before going out to drive 
with her aunt and cousin, she quietly withdrew the 
little ring from her finger, and put it away in her trunk. 

Foolish Irene! 


CHAPTER XL 

Count Beaurynski is the guest of Mr. and Mrs. 
Ralph Bolingbroke, at their cottage at Long Branch.’’ 

So the society papers told the world. 

And he was seen driving out almost daily with them 
in their family carriage. Once they met and passed a 
carriage drawn by a pair of dappled gray horses, whose 
occupants were a trio of fair people, — a young man, a 
beautiful woman in deep mourning, and a young girl 
in creamy white, her lovely face radiant with evident 
enjoyment of her surroundings, partly concealed by the 
lace falling from the cream white parasol which she 
carried low above it. 

The occupants of each carriage bowed in mutual 
recognition as they passed. Count Beaurynski started 
forward as he raised his hat. 

Ah, pardon, madame ; who may that lady be ?” 

Who Just passed?” inquired Mrs. Bolingbroke. 

Yes, yes,” said the count, impatiently. 

^^Why, that is Mrs. Bostwick, widow of Robert 
Bostwick, formerly a prominent member of the Stock 
Exchange. We do not meet her in society, as she is 
in mourning.” 
h 


10 * 


114 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


Ah, yes ; but the other ; the younger one in white 
^^Oh, that is — I am not certain — her niece, I think; 
I have never met her. She is very beautiful, I think.” 
‘^Ah, divine!” said the Count, enthusiastically. 

will find some way of introducing her to you,” 
said his hostess. She called on Mrs. Bostwick the 
following day, met Irene, and invited her to drive with 
her. Irene was much flattered to find herself seated in 
Mrs. Bolingbroke’s carriage, the Count Beaurynski 
opposite, riding about Long Branch. She was not in- 
sensible to the many glances of admiration bestowed 
upon her by the occupants of passing carriages; in 
truth, she had many times before noticed them, and 
the consciousness of being the object of such marked 
attention and evident admiration was very gratifying to 
her. 

Can any one tell me who the young lady is that 
was out driving with Mrs. Bolingbroke and Count 
Beaurynski, yesterday?” inquired one of a group of 
young ladies on the veranda of the West End Hotel, 
one afternoon. No one made answer. 

‘^Well, it seems strange,” the speaker continued, 
that though everybody is talking of her and admiring 
her beauty, and she is in receipt of the Count Beau- 
rynski’s distinguished attention, no one knows who she 
is, or anything about her.” 

‘^A prot6g6e of Mrs. Bolingbroke’s, perhaps,” said 
one. 

A poor relation of hers, more likely,” said another. 

I have seen her frequently on the drive with Mrs. 
Bostwick. She may be a friend of hers.” 

Ah, ladies, shall I tell you who your fair comped- 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


115 


tor is?’^ said a young man, standing just outside of the 
group. He had been talking with them a moment 
before, and was still near enough to overhear what they 
were saying. 

Yes, yes, Mr. Wells, please do enlighten us, if you 
can,” they answered, grouping about him. 

‘‘Well, I think I can, as I see her every day,” he 
said, slowly. “She is Mrs. Bostwick’s niece, from 
somewhere in the West. A charming young woman, 
too, who paints with decided skill and much originality. 
I take great pleasure, each day, in spending regularly two 
hours in her society, instructing her a little in my art.” 

“Happy man,” said the tallest of the group, in 
mocking tone. 

“ I did not know you gave instruction in your art,” 
said another. 

“ I do not, as a rule. I lack the patience, time, and 
disposition ; but Robert Bostwick and I are old friends. 
He wanted me to give his cousin a few hints for im- 
provement, which I did most willingly, as I would do 
anything for him that lies in my power.” 

“ Two hours each day ! Will you not lose your 
heart in such generous consideration for your friend ?” 
said a handsome brunette. 

“I? Oh, no. There is not the slightest chance of 
that ; she has no thought for any one but her fair cousin, 
nor he for any other but herself. Besides, she evidently 
looks on me as a plodding teacher of my art, and so 
receives me. Her manner pleases me ; but she paints 
admirably and makes rapid improvement. If she con- 
tinues as she has begun, I think I will be proud some 
time to know I was her first instructor.” 


116 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


Indeed !” said another of the group, who had not 
spoken heretofore. But who is she ? What is her 
name ? Who are her people 

Her name is Irene Patton’’ 

‘^Ah, there she comes, now, with Mrs. Bostwick,” 
interrupted the brunette, and they all turned to look at 
an approaching carriage, drawn by dappled gray horses. 
At the same moment, a gentleman approached with 
whom the artist was acquainted, and, excusing himself, 
he walked away in his company without another word. 

Eupert Wells, the gentleman who had thus volun- 
teered to furnish information regarding Irene, although 
still a young man, was a renowned artist. He painted 
with ease and great skill from nature, and his pictures 
sold for enormous sums. Yet, although his name, was 
known to every admirer or patron of art, it was not 
known to Irene. 

In her Western home, with limited opportunities for 
communication with the outside world, and knowing but 
little of art or artists through the medium of the daily 
papers at Newbridge, — almost the only papers she ever 
saw, — she had never seen even his name in print, or, 
if she had, had not remembered it. 

So, when Eobert Bostwick had introduced him to 
her as his friend, saying that he was an . artist, 
and had consented to look at the picture she was then 
painting and give her a few suggestions, she thought 
him probably one of the numerous teachers from the 
city. 

But she was glad to have him look over her work ; 
and, as he added a touch here and there, with her per- 
mission, she recognized the experienced stroke of the. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


117 


artist at once, for her plain sketch brightened, took on 
a new light, and seemed more lifelike in appearance. 
She was filled with enthusiasm at the sight. 

Oh, if I might have you to show me every day, I 
feel sure I could improve rapidly !” she exclaimed, 
unconsciously clapping her hands together as she 
watched him. Why, see! The picture is no longer 
mine, but yours ; you have changed and improved it 
so much I” 

Ah, but I had some good work to improve. What 
is the sketch 

I do not know ; it is but a copy, enlarged from a 
picture I saw once in a book. I drew the outline 
and supplied the color according to my own under- 
standing of what it should be. The one I copied was 
in black and white ; but I was anxious to try a land- 
scape, — so experimented with this.” 

How long since you first began painting?” 

‘^Only this spring to amount to anything, though I 
have dabbled in colors at odd times for two years past.” 

Who was your instructor?” 

I have received but little instruction, — what was 
given me by the drawing-teacher in school. I began 
so late to work in earnest that I have not had time to 
progress. But, if I could only have you to direct me, 
I think I could.” 

^‘And so do I,” said Mr. Wells, earnestly; ^^so 
much am I inclined to think so that Fve half a mind 
to bring an easel over by the side of yours, with your 
aunt’s and your permission, and not idle away the few 
weeks I am here, as I intended, but devote an hour or 
two each day to my own improvement, and yours.” 


118 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


Oh, if you only would !” She grasped his hand 
in hers, in her earnest approval of this plan and 
eagerness that he should carry it out. 

Her manner was new to him; so frank and honest it 
was, so free from all the insincerity and affectation that 
he saw so much of in life, that she interested him. He 
had been watching the expression of her face as she 
talked, and, looking through her eyes into her heart, 
had read her souFs purpose aright : a burning ambition 
to execute something of merit and worth in art. He 
felt that it would be a pleasure and a pastime to teach 
her ; the experience would be a novel one ; and then 
he would, as he had said, bring over his own easel, 
and, while he gave her hints for improvement, would 
himself make sketches from her pretty face in all its 
flitting and varied expressions; and would use one 
of them in a great picture he was working on in his 
studio. 

The arrangement was made, to the great satisfaction 
of all interested ; and each day, between ten and 
twelve in the morning, the two could be found in a 
little room at the back of the cottage which looked 
out on the sea busily engaged with their work. Some- 
times they were entirely alone, at other times Mrs. 
Bostwick would bring a book and sit by the window 
near them and read ; then ofttimes her son neglected 
to take the early train for the city, as was his custom, 
and made one of the little group also, talking with 
gay freedom to the artist, while lingering near the easel 
of Irene. 

Rupert Wells watched the pair with interest. He 
saw the face of his young pupil brighten at her cousin’s 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


119 


approach, and a faint flush overspread her fair counte- 
nance whenever he ventured to praise her sketch. 

Yes; there was no doubt of it. His old college- 
chum and dear friend was becoming hopelessly en- 
tangled in love’s meshes, and was winning the heart 
of his cousin almost away from her occupation. 

Something he noticed, too, which his young pupil 
and friend were too preoccupied to observe; — ^a look 
of displeasure and annoyance overspread the face of 
Mrs. Bostwick as she marked the growing affection of 
the pair for each other. 

And why should she be annoyed ? She loved her niece 
and her son ? Oh, yes ; as much as her poor selfish 
nature could care for any one besides herself ; and she 
sincerely wished for their happiness, but, to her mind, 
true happiness could never be secured in life without 
money, — and plenty of it. Poverty meant privation, 
self-denial, and consequent misery and wretchedness ; 
and, in looking over the accounts of her late husband 
after his death, she had found but little left of the 
large fortune he had once possessed, — so little, indeed, 
that it would not support her long in the manner of 
living to which she had grown accustomed. So she 
hoj)ed that her son might make a wealthy alliance, 
knowing tlmt she could always count on having a home 
with him, and of sharing any success or good fortune 
that might attend him ; and she had long hoped to 
have Mrs. Frothingliam’s niece — a very wealthy 
heiress — for a daughter-in-law. She was abroad now 
with her aunt, but before they had gone away every- 
thing seemed to favor this prospect. The young people 
were apparently fond of each other’s society, and Mrs. 


120 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


Frothingham had even talked with her about their 
attachment for each other in such a way as to show 
that she also entertained a hope of their union. He was 
just starting out in life, too, in a profession that has 
so many followers, and whose records show so many 
failures. Supported by wealth, he might soon secure 
patronage and make such headway as would establish 
his position among its leading representatives in a short 
time ; but for one accustomed to wealth and luxury 
just beginning in a profession, lack of money was sure 
to be a very serious drawback. She was even keeping 
up the appearance of continued wealth and affluence 
before the world as long as she might, with the view 
of advancing her son’s interests in business and matri- 
mony, hoping that, before she had exhausted what yet 
remained of her husband’s fortune, success in both 
might be attained ; and now he was about to wreck all 
her plans by falling in love with a girl having 
not a particle of influence in society, and no dowry 
save her beauty. , 

She looked forward with horror to a life outside of 
the world she had known since girlhood, deprived of 
the luxuries that had become necessities with her ; and 
she was vexed with herself for ever having put tempta- 
tion in her son’s way by inviting Irene to her home. 
For certain it was that Irene, who looked never so 
beautiful as now, in fashionable and becoming attire, 
falling into all the ways and habits of her surround- 
ings as though she had been all her life accustomed to 
them, — lovely Irene, who was attracting more attention 
and winning more hearts by her simple grace, charm- 
ing expression, and the fascination of her unconscious 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


121 


manners than ever she had done in her younger days, 
— was thwarting all her plans and frustrating all her 
hopes, by falling in love with, and winning the heart 
of, her son. 

She had sent for her to come and visit her because 
she admired her pretty face, and wanted to have it 
near her. She never stopped to reason that as a bird of 
brilliant plumage attracts the eye of all alike who may 
discover it, or the spring bursting from the ground by 
the wayside is welcomed with equal joy by every 
thirsty passer-by, even so the charms of Irene would 
be felt by one who met her frequently. 

To expostulate was to move a brand on a sleeping 
flame that the draft might impart to it new life; but 
she continued to frown while she watched them, and 
waited in a vain hope that this fascination— as she 
called it — would wear itself out. Finally, one day she 
argued with her son, in private, against the foolish 
course he was pursuing, and the disastrous mistake he 
was making. 

He listened attentively until she had finished, and, 
after weighing the subject in his mind, came to the 
conclusion that she was right, and determined to 
avoid Irene’s society thereafter, until he had stifled 
this feeling that had sprung up in his breast for her. 
He went regularly into the city every day before she 
was up thereafter, returning late in the evenings, and 
carefully avoiding the studio. But his work went 
wrong all the while. He was writing her name in 
his letters ; her face was before him in his imagina- 
tion, and his thoughts were on her instead of on his 
work. He could eat nothing with relish. Life was 

F 11 


122 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


without pleasure or comfort for him, and, just as Mrs. 
Bostwick was about to congratulate herself on her suc- 
cessful and timely interference, he gave up the struggle 
against his heart’s inclinations, and was back in the 
studio by Irene’s side, more constant and devoted in 
his attentions than ever before. 

And Irene all the while was neglecting her be- 
trothed and falling in love with her cousin, without 
realizing the true state of her feelings. She attributed 
the new joy and happiness she experienced since com- 
ing into her aunt’s home to the change of scene; to 
the beautiful and luxurious surroundings; to the drives 
and the dresses ; to the flowers she received from her 
cousin and the Count; to the attentions and open admira- 
tion paid to her ; to her success in jDainting, — to every- 
thing that she had known, in fact, since she had come 
hither that she had never known at home, save the true 
cause and reason, — love. So subtle is the influence of 
love ! Like the sun, spreading its radiance over all the 
earth, in all climes, among all sorts and conditions of 
men ; instilling new life into all who bask in its rays. 

The sunlight steals so silently into your home that 
you would never know that it had come until made 
aware of its presence as the room grows warmer, the 
walls look brighter, and you see where its path lies 
across the floor. It came in unbidden at an open door 
or window, or through a crevice in the wall, and you 
go singing about your work because it is there. You 
may turn your back on its brightness, close the door 
and window, stop up the crevice, and seek to live on 
happy without it, but the color will leave your cheek ; 
your heart will be heavy ; your voice will grow harsh ; 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


123 


your disposition will become crabbed and sour; the 
charm will have gone out of your life; and unhappi- 
ness and discontent sit down on each side of you. 
You cannot shut the sunlight out of your life, and be 
happy, after once having felt its power; and if you 
know all the while that it is outside waiting to be 
admitted, no longer able to endure without its gentle 
solace, you will run out into the open air and turn 
your face towards its source until your eyes are dazzled, 
blinded almost, by its brightness. 

Shine on, life-giving sun ! The birds sing all the 
day long in thy radiance. The night-bird alone comes 
forth when thou no longer dost brighten the earth, 
and hoots in unmelodious tone, doubtless, because it 
does not know thee. 

The child plays in thy beams with happy laugh; 
youth brightens and hopes, middle age endures with 
patience, old age is strengthened, because of thy light. 

Is it not so with love ? 

When Irene became conscious that Frank Raynor’s 
image was being crowded out of her heart by another 
dearer to her than his, she was frightened at first, yet 
made no effort to reinstate it, and finally grew happy 
and contented in her cousin’s companionship, forgetful 
of every promise to the true heart away in Newbridge 
that was anxiously watching for her letters, and waiting 
for her return, dreaming only of her face all the 
while. 

Leave landscapes,” the artist said to Irene, one 
morning, ^‘and try faces. You have a correct eye and 
careful touch. You might excel in that department.” 

She did as he advised, and, coming into the little 


124 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


studio one morning before her, Rupert Wells found 
the outlines of his friend’s features on her easel. 

Ah ! Frank Raynor, there is a greater distance than 
miles coming between you and your heart’s idol. The 
distance is widening each hour. Arouse yourself! 
Call her back to you before it is too late 1 Your 
home is waiting to shelter your chosen bride ! If you 
permit it to wait much longer it will be desolate 1 


CHAPTER XII. 

One afternoon, early in October, Frank Raynor 
entered his apartment on Grand Street, and, with 
an air of despondency, took off his coat and waistcoat, 
and threw himself upon the bed. 

With both hands underneath his head and eyes 
intently fixed upon the ceiling, he gave himself up 
disconsolately to his thoughts. He had felt too ill to 
continue his work at the office that afternoon ; so, 
leaving earlier than was his custom, sought relief in 
the solitude of his room. Quiet was all he required, 
he was certain ; yet the longer he remained there alone 
the more intensely he suffered. His head seemed 
bursting, and disturbing thoughts would come, in spite 
of all effort to keep them away. 

‘^Just two months to-day since Irene went away I 
When will she return ?” That perplexing and con- 
stantly-recurring question disturbed him, and the 
answer, Never, never, never,” seemed to repeat itself 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


125 


with every heart-beat. She had promised to write to 
him every day. Now it had been a week since he 
had heard from her. In her last letter she had told 
him of the drives she had taken about Long Branch ; 
the pleasant people she had met; her painting, and 
how rapidly she was progressing. She had told him 
also of her meeting with, and the attention she had 
received from, the distinguished foreigner, Count 
Beaurynski; and many other incidents of her life at 
the seaside she had written of, but not one word about 
coming home, — and no reference did she make to their 
marriage. 

She had promised to write every day, and had writ- 
ten but twice a week before that, — such letters as had 
brought but little comfort to his lonely, aching heart. 

Twice he had walked deliberately down to her 
father’s house, intending to beg of her parents to send 
for her and compel her to return ; but when he reached 
the gateway he had gone by without stopping, feeling 
contempt for himself for having entertained for a mo- 
ment such a selfish purpose. No ! no ! Bather than 
ask this favor from such a source, he would battle witli 
his feelings and await her voluntary return, or, if needs 
be, himself entreat her to come back. 

A light rap so startled him that he bounded from 
the bed to the floor with a leap that shook the walls of 
the room. When he opened the door he discovered 
his friend, Marshall Bird, who had a room adjoining 
his, and who held out a letter to him, saying, — 

I was not sure you were at home, but ventured to 
rap and see. I just took this for you from the post- 
man.” 


11 * 


126 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


Thank you; thank you!” said Frank, excitedly, 
taking the letter with trembling hands, and recogniz- 
ing Irene^s familiar handwriting. I came home 
early; was not feeling well. Come in, Marshall, 
come in !” 

^‘No; thank you, Frank. I have noticed that 
you haven^t been looking well for some time past, old 
friend. I am afraid you are working beyond your 
strength. You ought to take a vacation. You need 
rest. I’ll tell you what it is, — I am going to New 
York, about the last of the month, to meet my parents 
and sister on their return from Europe. You had 
better go with me. The change would do you good.” 

“No, thank you; I’ll be all right in a day or so. 
I would rather not leave just then,” he said, thinking 
that Irene would have returned by that time. 

“ You ought to go there or somewhere else. Think 
it over, at any rate. You may change your mind 
meanwhile.” And, closing the door, the minister left 
him to himself. 

He tore open the letter in a sort of frenzied haste. 
It contained one little, single sheet, only partly filled, 
beginning, “Dear Friend,” and saying, by way of 
apology for not having written before, that she had 
been going about so much, and had put otf writing 
from day to day until a week had passed before she 
was aware. She had been having some pictures taken. 
When they were finished she would send him one. 
With such matter and in such a manner was the letter 
filled, and signed, “Lovingly, Irene.” 

He held it away from him and looked at it in a 
dazed manner, then brought it closer and read it over 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


127 


again ; then, contemptuously tearing it into pieces, he 
cast its fragments about him on the floor, walked over 
to his desk, and wrote excitedly page after page a letter 
in reply, which he folded, placed in an envelope, 
sealed, stamped, and addressed to Irene, without even 
reading it over. Then, donning his coat and hat, he 
went out into the street and dropped it into the first 
post-box he came to, and, retracing his steps to his 
room, turned the key in the latch, and did not emerge 
again that evening. 

The house-maid rapped at the door to call him to 
supper, but he made no reply. All that night he 
tossed about in a fever of anxiety, unable to obtain 
any rest. He had believed that he possessed Irene’s 
heart before she went away from him. Now he was 
beginning to doubt it. Life there was offering to her 
more attraction than she could find at home, and was 
keeping her away from him. A myriad of cold, 
calculating, disinterested hearts out there in the world 
were winning her away from one true heart in New- 
bridge. He had never spoken of her return in any 
of his letters, trusting that the dictates of her heart 
would bring her to his side of her own accord. And 
now he had written asking her to choose at once 
between him and the world. 

He had meant to be gentle, but had grown intense 
as he wrote, the remembrance of the. short, indifferent 
letters he had received from her spurring him on until 
what he had intended to be a gentle remonstrance was 
instead a sarcastic reproof. 

In the morning, when he was calmer, he regretted 
that he had been so severe, and promised himself to 


128 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


write a penitent letter to her as soon as he arrived at 
his office. 

Pale and haggard, he went his way thither, nodding 
in indifferent recognition to those whom he met with 
whom he was acquainted. Out in the world, the little 
world of Newbridge, the gossips had long been talk- 
ing over his affairs, having noticed, with much sur- 
prise, his changed appearance, his careworn features, 
and his withdrawal from the society which he had 
formerly frequented. 

His engagement with Irene was generally known, 
and commented on with disfavor by many of his 
acquaintances. Now, as they noted the change that 
had come over him, and at the same time her pro- 
longed absence, they discoursed in such a manner 
about him as would have made him furious could he 
have known what they were saying. But he never 
knew. We rarely do hear the ill that is said about 
us. The friend who would be kind fears to offend by 
telling us; and so, what has its birth ofttimes in the 
imagination of some unscrupulous person in time 
becomes accepted as a fact. 

As he walked towards the office that morning, with 
his mind full of sorrow and self-reproach, he passed 
Minnie Barnes on her way to school. She was walk- 
ing slowly, engrossed in reading a letter as she went 
along. He disliked her, scarcely knowing why; yet 
he spoke pleasantly to her in passing, because she was 
Irene^s friend. 

^‘Oh, Mr. Raynor, is that you?’’ she said. “I 
have just received and have been reading a long letter 
from Irene.” 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 129 

He stopped, and, glancing at the letter, saw that it 
was much longer than the one he had received. 

Indeed he answered. What does she have to 
say 

“ As if you did not know, when, of course, you 
hear from her four or five times a week, no doubt, 
while this is the first letter I have received from her 
in three weeks 

‘‘How does she write to you?’’ he inquired, not 
seeming to heed what she was saying. 

“ I wonder if I can make him jealous !” thought 
Minnie, as she answered, — 

“ Oh, she says she is having a glorious time ! And 
she says the Count Beaurynski, — by the way, wasn’t 
it romantic how he sought to be introduced to her? 
I should think she would feel highly complimented ! 
I know that I should ! But, then, it is not strange 
that he noticed her; she is so very beautiful that every 
one admires her.” 

Frank, walking by her side, dropped into her pace. 

“ What did she say of the Count Beaurynski in this 
letter?” he inquired, trying to ask the question care- 
lessly, but failing utterly. 

“He is jealous already,” thought Minnie. “If I 
could only win him from her !” And she continued, — 

“ Oh, she says the Count calls almost every day at 
her aunt’s house in the city, and sends her such beau- 
tiful flowers !” 

“And what else?” His words had such a cold, 
hard sound that Minnie looked up in affright, think- 
ing she had ventured too far. 

“ Oh, nothing else but just gossip about her pleas- 


130 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


ures and pastimes, and her paintings, and so on. She 
tells you all about everything, of course? Oh, she 
told me not to let you get lonesome while she was 
away, lest you should want her to come back before 
she is ready to come, — as if I could keep you from 
missing her ! I miss her myself so much that I wish 
she would return at once.” 

And so do I,” said Frank, heartily, adding, I 
must leave you here, as our roads lie apart. Good- 
morning.” 

Don^t get lonesome,” said Minnie, smiling up in 
his face bewitcliJhgly as he left her. 

He could make no answer ; his heart was too full ; 
but silently lifted his hat and pursued his way. His 
soul was in torment. A new feeling — jealousy — was 
struggling for a place in his breast. He tried to thrust 
it back, but it forced its way against his will, and found 
food there to strengthen it in the recollection of the 
short, unsatisfactory communications he had been re- 
ceiving from Irene, — those letters that should have 
been so full of loving consideration for his loneliness 
instead. 

Ah me ! what a great smoke a little fire makes. 

The letter he meant to write in apology for that of 
the day before was never written. 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


131 


CHAPTER XIIL 

It was the second time the Count Beaurynski had 
ever visited the United States. He was a Russian, tall, 
handsome, of dark complexion, with black hair and 
eyes, and he was very rich, and of excellent family. 
With honest pride he looked back over his ancestry, 
in the knowledge that no fault of theirs, either public 
or private, could cause him to blush for th«»title he bore. 

His two sisters and his mother were living. One of 
his sisters had married an English lord ; the other was 
the wife of the Russian ambassador at England. His 
mother lived with the latter; and he, the only male 
representative of the family, was thirty-three years of 
age, and unmarried. 

He had come to America intending to spend a little 
time in and about New York, thence to travel through 
the Western States, and in the fall to start from the 
Pacific coast on an extended trip around the world. 
In London, the season before, he had met and known 
intimately and favorably Mr. and Mrs. Bolingbroke, 
and, while in New York, had accepted their invitation 
to spend a few days with them at their cottage at Long 
Branch. Many entertainments were given there in 
his honor, and several young women of wealth and 
culture were presented to him who were ready to lay 
their hearts at his feet. 

To all this apparent homage he remained stolidly 
indiiferent, and at the receptions, teas, and entertain- 


132 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


merits, wherever he lent his presence, would look about 
continually and anxiously for a sight of the fair, girl- 
ish face that had once attracted him on the drive, and 
that had since sat opposite to him in the same carriage, 
— a face that flushed whenever he addressed its owner ; 
a face that had never thrust itself upon his notice at 
any time, but which he had to seek after. When he 
had learned that it would not be seen at any of the 
entertainments to which he was invited, he ceased to 
attend them himself. 

And he lingered at Long Branch. 

Every day he mounted his horse and galloped past 
Mrs. Frothingham’s cottage, and w^as repaid for his 
journey and made happier when chance gave him a 
glimpse of the one he was hoping to see, — Irene. 

He sent her magnificent bouquets of flowers fre- 
quently ; and when the season came to a close he went 
back to the city and registered at a prominent hotel, 
unable to overcome his desire to see often and talk 
with her, and became an almost daily visitor at her 
aunt’s home. 

“The Count is becoming hopelessly entangled; 
surely you may be a Countess if you wish. I think he 
will offer himself before long, and, if he does, you will 
never refuse him, of course ?” said Mrs. Bostwick to 
Irene, after one of his visits. 

“ Nonsense, Aunt Mollie ! He never thinks of such 
a thing; and, even if he should offer himself, I would 
certainly never accept him !” 

“ You would be mad not to encourage him, — a 
nobleman, and rich as he is, too! Are you so much 
in love at home ?” 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


133 


No, no' ! That is not the reason ; but I do not 
care to marry any one,^^ Irene answered ; and, without 
another word, arose and went hurriedly out of the room. 

Mrs. Bostwick was annoyed. ^‘Yes; there is one 
you would marry,’’ she said to herself. Only that 
must not be.” 

The Count was assuredly in love with Irene. In 
vain he had tried to dispute with himself as to the true 
state of his feelings. Three times he had ordered his 
trunks packed and made arrangements for continuing 
his journey, and three times, at the last moment, he 
had changed his mind, being unable to leave New 
York while she was there, and he could see her. 

Many times he thought over and discarded the idea 
of bestowing his name on an obscure American, know- 
ing with what disfavor his proud mother and sisters 
would look upon such an alliance. And yet, — and yet 
he hesitated, less each time. Why not, if her family 
were gentle people ? 

Who were her people, anyhow? He had never 
been able to learn anything about them. Irene had 
once said her home was in Newbridge. He decided 
finally to write there and make inquiry, or, better still, 
to send his trusted servant to discover all he might be 
able about her. If the family were poor even, but not 
of common blood, and there was no disgrace attached 
to their name, he would forthwith seek her hand in 
marriage, no matter what the world or his family might 
think or say. 

***** * 

Frank Raynor was seated in his private office, one 
afternoon late in October, looking over and wearily 


134 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


making memoranda from some letters which were 
spread out on the desk in front of him. The win- 
dow was open at his side, and a chilling breeze came 
through, bearing witli it the light rustle of the dead 
leaves it loosened from the branches of a huge walnut- 
tree that grew near. 

He was alone, and greatly changed from the happy 
man of three months ago. He looked ill. His cheeks 
were sunken, a deadly pallor was over his countenance, 
and his dark eyes seemed staring about in suspicious 
and restless inquiry. He was very nervous, too, and 
started at every sound like a person guilty of some 
crime. Even the rustle of the falling leaves disturbed 
him, for the sound kept fresh in his mind the flight 
of the days. 

It was now almost two weeks since he had written 
to Irene begging her to return to him, and he had 
elicited no reply. 

He could not understand the meaning of her pro- 
longed silence. Each day he walked home with a 
quickened step that he might the sooner receive the 
letter that must surely await him there ; and each time 
returned with languid pace, as if the hurry had ex- 
hausted him. His appetite failed him. He could eat 
nothing with relish when doubt and dissatisfaction 
were thus preying upon him ; and as he sat there this 
afternoon, leaning his head upon his hand, forgetful 
of the work before liim, he seemed wavering between 
hope and despair. 

The door opened, and one of the men from the ad- 
joining office handed him a card, saying, “ The gentle- 
man is waiting outside.’’ ^ 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


135 


Mechanically he read the name, “ Henry Blake.” 

It was strange to him. He rose and began arranging 
his papers, and, closing his desk, said calmly to the 
clerk, who was waiting, Show him in.” 

He had never seen the man before, but strangers 
called on him frequently; so he was not surprised at 
meeting this one, and motioned him silently to a seat, 
while waiting for him to state his errand. 

Are you Mr. Frank Raynor ?” began the stranger, 
consulting a slip of paper he held in his hand, as if 
for reference. 

“I am,” replied Frank, betraying no little impa- 
tience. 

“ May I inquire whether you are acquainted with a 
family living here in this city by the name of Patton?” 

Frank was perceptibly startled, but replied, as calmly 
as he was able,— 

“ If you^refer to the family of John Patton, — ^yes.” 

I am not sure whether that is the name ; but the 
one I mean has a daughter, visiting at present in New 
York.” Frank was now quite visibly excited. 

Why do you inquire? Who sent you to me?” he 
demanded, imperatively. 

I do not know the name of the man that directed , 
me here, not being acquainted in this place. I have 
only just arrived from the East, and the ticket-agent 
at the station, of whom I first made inquiries, sent me 
to you, saying that you could tell me all about the 
family, as you knew them well.” 

As Frank listened a cold chill crept over his body. 
He began to fear some harm had befallen Irene. 

Do you know the daughter, Irene?” he inquired. 


13G 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


No, I have not that honor.’’ 

Tlien who are you ? and what is it you want to 
know ?” 

The man was an excellent valet, but a blundering 
detective. You have my card,” he said. I wish 
only to learn all I may about the family and connec- 
tions of Irene Patton.” 

“And wherefore?” inquired Frank, with evident 
suspicion in his manner. 

“For no dishonorable purpose, sir,” the man re- 
sponded, haughtily. “ Is it a crime to inquire into the 
history of a family living in the city one may visit? 
I see you do not wish to aid me, so, if you will pardon 
my intrusion, I will take my leave.” He arose as he 
said this, and made a move as if about to depart. 

“ No, stay a moment !” remonstrated Frank. “ I 
meant no harm by what I said, believe me ; only it 
seemed odd that you should come so far to inquire. I 
know the family well, very well. Only be kind 
enough to answer me one question, — Why have you 
come here to learn about them, when you might have 
obtained from the daughter or her aunt in New York 
all the information you can possibly glean by coming 
here, and have thus spared yourself a long journey ?” 

“ I am acting not on my own responsibility, but by 
the direction of another; therefore, I cannot reply,” 
the man answered. 

“ Will you answer me one more question, a fair one, 
as I am much interested in the family, being, I may 
say, almost related to them, — Who sent you hither to 
inquire ?” 

The man hesitated for a moment, while he pondered 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


137 


over in his mind what would be best for him to an- 
swer. It was a new* business to him that he was now 
engaged in, and he was clumsy at the best. However, 
he argued to himself, ‘^The Count did not impose the 
least secrecy upon me ; there can be no harm in telling, 
and I may thereby the sooner learn what I have come 
to find out, and get away from this beastly town.” So 
he replied, after a short pause, — 

The Count Beaurynski !” 

What !” almost shrieked Frank Raynor, springing 
from the chair on which he had been sitting, overturn- 
ing it as he did so, and darting towards the stranger as 
if he would clutch him by the throat and strangle him 
for speaking the name. The man stepped back out 
of his way hastily, wondering if he had blundered, 
when Frank, recovering himself, besought his pardon 
in a way that reassured him. 

You know the Count ?” he inquired, cautiously. 

“No, I do not know him; I have heard of him 
only, that is all, — that is all,” Frank explained. 

“ He is of excellent family and an honorable gentle- 
man,” the man went on to say. 

“Yes, yes; no doubt,” Frank added, hastily. Thoughts 
of Irene and Count Beaurynski had for some time been 
disturbing him, until within the last few days he had 
almost made himself believe that in the Count he had 
a formidable rival and that he was stealing Irene’s 
heart away from him; and this thought, augmented by 
her long silence, gained confirmation in his mind the 
more he brooded over it. The name of the Count 
Beaurynski in company with Irene’s was coursing 
through his brain day and night, making him almost 
12 * 


138 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


insane with jealousy. No wonder he started away from 
himself on hearing it pronounced so inauspiciously by 
this stranger. Why should he want to know of Irene’s 
people if he was indeed an honorable gentleman, as this 
man had said, but with an intention of making her his 
wife if her antecedents and family were not objection- 
able? and knowing with what contempt titled foreigners 
looked upon the working class, and what their aristo- 
cratic requirements were of the families into which they 
married, he thought that Fate was kind to throw this 
man in his way. 

The reason wliy Irene had not answered his letter 
was obvious enough, to be sure. He had asked her to 
accept or discard him, to return to him or to release 
him, — seeking rather to be released from any vestige 
of hope than suffer the agony of doubt he had been 
enduring. 

But she had not written ; she had not released him ; 
she was doubtless waiting for the Count to propose 
to her before she cast him aside, — willing to marry 
him if she could not secure this nobleman, — and she 
had kept him waiting all the time in consequence; 
while he — he — had been a deluded fool! He paced the 
floor excitedly, not heeding the stranger’s presence, 
while engrossed by these thoughts. 

His visitor shifted about uneasily in his chair until 
Frank, noticing him, said, — 

I beg your pardon. I was allowing my mind to 
be taken up with other matters for the moment.” He 
glanced towards the clock as he spoke, and continued, 
Perhaps you would like to meet with Mr. Patton. In 
that case I will take you where he works and intro- 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


139 


duce you to him, and, as we walk along, will tell you 
all I know about the family,” 

The man bowed in acknowledgment of this favor, 
and, taking up his hat, Frank escorted him out of the 
ofiSce into the street, walking directly towards the shops 
where John Patton was employed. He had heard 
that foreigners of rank had such an exalted esti- 
mation of the value of their titles that they would 
bury or cast out of their hearts any affection that might 
have sprung into life there rather than marry a woman, 
no matter how lovely or talented she might be, who 
was without fortune and whose parents were working- 
people. With a kind of insane satisfaction, therefore, 
he took this man into the shops where John Patton, 
with soot-begrimed features, stood among men who, 
with dark, dirty shirt-sleeves rolled above their elbows, 
exposing their brawny black arms to view, were pound- 
ing and working away at their trade, the perspiration 
streaming down their faces and necks. He presented 
his companion to him there, and lingered long enough 
for him to take a good view of the surroundings, and 
to have enough conversation with John Patton to enable 
him to discover his ignorance of the forms of speech 
and manners that lend grace to polite society. 

When they came out into the open air again, the 
man gave a sigh of relief and hastily brushed with 
his hands traces of black soot from off his coat as he 
continued to walk by Frank RaynoFs side, listening 
eagerly to his discourse of the family about whom he 
was making inquiries. 

“ The mother is a good \yoman, uneducated to be 
sure, but a good mother and a good wife. She has all 


140 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


her life known what it is to work, and to work hard, 
too, doing the washing, ironing, baking, cooking, scrub- 
bing, sewing, and all the other homely duties of the 
house and for her family. She keeps a servant now, 
though she scarcely knows the use of one, having grown 
so accustomed to attending to the household duties her- 
self. To be sure, she does not shine in society, because 
she has no society to make mention of save that of her 
neighbors and a few of the church people ; but what 
matters that as long as she is happy in her home and 
unfitted by education and experience for the cares of 
social life? Who were her people? Ah, that I can- 
not tell you so much about, but you will meet her 
presently, and she will gladly tell you of them if you 
lead her to the subject. Yonder is their home, and 

there she is herself Good-afternoon, Mrs. Patton ; 

allow me to introduce a gentleman from New York, 
Mr. Blake, a friend of the Count Beaurynski.’^ 

Mrs. Patton, who was on her knees on the ground 
in front of the house with a broken knife in her hand, 
digging away at the roots of some plants that were 
growing there, arose as Frank addressed her, and, ad- 
justing her spectacles, extended a brawny hand towards 
her visitors. 

So glad to meet you, Mr. Blake, and you also, Mr. 
Raynor. Won’t you come in a while ?” she asked. 

They consented to sit for a few moments on the 
veranda steps. 

Irene had written to her mother about the Count, — 
as Frank was certain she had, — and, feeling flattered 
at meeting one of his friends, Mrs. Patton began talk- 
ing freely and eagerly on whatever subject Mr. Blake 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


141 


or Frank advanced, and was led skilfully back into 
the remembrances of her early life and ancestors, never 
once imagining that thus she was responding to the 
wishes of her auditors. 

he foolish are always talking ; the wise listen.^ 
When they took their leave, finally, Frank accom- 
panied his companion only a short distance, when ex- 
cusing himself, he turned to leave him. 

What may I offer, in behalf of the Count Beau- 
rynski, in return for your kindness?’^ inquired the 
man, as he was walking away. 

Nothing.” 

At least, I may thank you ?” 

Do not even thank me.” Saying which, he pur- 
sued his way so hurriedly that the man stood abashed, 
looking after him a moment in surprise before slowly 
retracing his steps to the depot. Frank did not go 
home at once, but, with every step betokening an ex- 
cited mind, walked aimlessly onward, he knew and 
cared not whither, feeling all the while a contempt for 
himself on account of what he had just done. Occa- 
sionally in his course he passed one who knew him and 
addressed him familiarly. At such he only stared in 
dumb surprise, and continued on his way. He passed 
the house he had prepared for his home with Irene, 
pausing a moment in front of it, and glancing up in 
pain at its bare windows that stared at him like so 
many cold, unsympathetic eyes. Something seemed 
to come like a lump in his throat as he looked, almost 
strangling him, and he hurried onward. He walked 
along the road towards The Heights, leaving the city 
and the noises behind him in the distance, and finally 


142 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


hearing no sound save the singing of the bobolink 
in the bushes by the wayside. Coming at length to 
where the road wound its way through the w^oods, he 
turned aside from the beaten path and plunged into 
where the trees and bushes grew thickest. He experi- 
enced a grim satisfaction in trampling down and break- 
ing apart the young vines and twigs in his way, heeding 
not that his hands were pierced and bleeding by the 
thorns on some of the branches, — the pain in his heart 
was so great. 

Emerging at last into an open space, he dropped 
from sheer exhaustion on a mossy knoll. The ground 
about him was covered with dead leaves, the branches 
of many of the trees were quite bare, and the solitude 
was enlivened only by the flitting of a squirrel through 
the bushes, and the singing of a whip-poor-will in the 
branches above his head. 

An ugly brown toad hopped towards him, looking 
into his face as if inquiring why he had come hither 
to disturb its quiet. 

‘^Are you happy, you dull, ugly little creature?’’ 
he inquired aloud, startled by the sound of his own 
voice in the stillness. 

The toad slowly opened and closed its eyelids and 
hopped away, as if answering that it was content. So 
he interpreted it. 

Contentment ! Happy are ye who find it ! It is 
the true syuonyme of happiness ; not love, as some have 
said,” he continued aloud. 

Here in these woods, where the only creatures that 
populated it knew none of the tortures of a living, 
thinking mind, the pain of rivalry, the pangs of love, 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


143 


hate, jealousy, pride, and ambition, he lingered until 
night began to draw her mantle over the day, and 
evening was closing in ; then, and not before, coming 
forth, he bent his steps towards home, having pondered 
over his future course, and determined on a line of 
conduct to be pursued. He showed settled purpose in 
his gait. A light rain was beginning to fall. He never 
heeded it, but continued his way without quickening his 
pace. The drops fell faster, yet he never hastened. 

At home in his room, Marshall Bird, arrayed in 
dressing-gown and slippers, was sitting alone, engaged 
in perusing the evening paper, when there came a light 
rap on his door. 

Come in,^’ he called out, without rising, thinking 
it was the servant with the pitcher of water he had 
called for a moment before. The door opened a little 
way only, and Frank E-aynor peered in, looking more 
sad and haggard than ever he had seen him. His hat, 
rain-soaked, fell limply over his eyes, and the water 
dripped from its brim. 

Oh, is it you, Frank ? Come in ; come in,” said 
the minister, cheerily, arising and coming towards him. 

“ No, thank you ; I won’t come in. I only wanted 
to inquire when you will leave for New York ?” 

To-morrow, God willing,” the minister replied. 

^^Well, I have decided to go with you, if you still 
desire my company,” said Frank, trying to assume a 
light tone, yet failing utterly. 

Indeed, I am overjoyed to have you change your 
mind,” replied the minister, grasping his friend’s hand 
in his own heartily, as if to assure him of his sincerity. 
The hand enclosed in his was cold and trembling. 


144 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


Frank, my friend,” he continued, in a serious tone, 
you are suffering.” 

No, no ; you are wrong ! It^s over now. I have 
been suffering, — that is all, — but it^s over now.” And 
closing the door hastily, he went into his room. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

The Count Beaurynski was closeted with his valet 
for some time in his room at the hotel; and for 
many hours after the man had left his presence he 
remained there in solitude, pondering over all that 
had been related to him of Irene Patton’s family and 
home. 

The daughter of a mechanic, whose mother digs in 
the earth and works in the house all day like a servant ! 
Why,- if he were to marry her the papers all over tlie 
country would be full of it, and his mother would 
never recover from the shock it would give her ! He 
determined, finally, to leave New York at once and 
without again seeing Irene, as it was the only safe 
course for him to pursue. 

When his trunks had all been packed and sent to 
the station, he ordered a cab and set out to make some 
farewell calls before leaving. Stopping at a florist’s 
bn the way, he ordered a basket of flowers to be sent 
to Irene, and wrote on a card that should accompany 
it a line of farewell over his name; then told the 
driver to proceed up Fifth Avenue. He wanted to 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


145 


pass by her aunt’s house, hoping to catch a glimpse of 
her face at the window. 

The house was passed, and no sight of any one was 
to be had. An uncontrollable desire then took posses- 
sion of him to speak with her once again ; to touch her 
hand ; to hear her voice once more. Without pausing 
to reconsider this purpose, he ordered the driver to 
return and stop at the house. 

Irene had risen earlier than had been her custom 
that morning, unable any longer to rest in her bed 
on account of disturbing thoughts that harassed her. 
Uppermost of these was the consciousness that her 
aunt was growing to dislike her. She had changed 
in her manner towards her of late. She no longer 
came into her room as formerly, kissing her before 
she was out of bed, but had grown quite cold and 
indifferent. 

Irene was puzzled to account for this change. It 
made her feel that she was no longer a welcome vis- 
itor; and the thought of bringing her visit to an end 
brought to her mind also the necessity of sending some 
reply to that last letter she had received from Frank. 
She had long ago decided on the character and sub- 
stance of the reply, but lacked the courage to write 
and send what she wanted to say, realizing that it 
would be a cruel reward for loving and trusting con- 
sideration to tell him that another filled her heart ; 
that another had been receiving her caresses while she 
had been away from him ; and that she had given her 
love, unsought, to that other. And after she had 
written and sent that answer, what was she to do, she 
wondered, — go back to Newbridge again ? Never ! 

Q,k 13 


146 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


Put such a distance between herself and cousin ? 
Impossible ! There was nothing there now to attract 
her; there was everything here. The sight of Frank^s 
face, after having so trifled with him, would be torture, 
while the sight of her cousin’s smile was life. Her 
cousin had never addressed a word of love to her ; yet 
his eyes spoke volumes instead. Basking in his smile, 
she had forgotten her duty to her betrothed ; had put 
off answering his last letter from day to day, until 
two weeks had gone by before she was aware. He 
must be angry with her now, for he had not written 
again. She felt ashamed as she thought of how cruelly 
she had been neglecting him, and said to herself as she 
went down-stairs, ^^The letter shall be answered to-day ; 
to-day without fail.” 

Breakfast was not yet served, and no one was in the 
breakfast-room ; so she went into the back parlor, and, 
seating herself at the piano, began playing over a soft, 
plaintive melody that she had heard one day in the 
street. She stopped suddenly as a hand was laid on 
her shoulder, and, looking up, saw her cousin standing 
by her side. He smiled at her half-frightened manner. 

The piece is very sad,” he said. 

Yes. I caught it from some street-musicians one 
day,” she answered him, wondering why he was look- 
ing so pale, and his voice trembled so. 

Irene,” he said, after a moment’s pause, during 
which she continued to play softly the air she had 
begun, ^‘stop a moment. I want to ask you some- 
thing. Is it true that you plighted your troth with 
one at home before you came here ?” 

The question came so suddenly, and unexpectedly 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


147 


that she was unable to recover from her surprise and 
reply at once, but flushed crimson while she hesi- 
tated. 

Tell me, is it true ?’’ he urged, with much agita- 
tion. 

It is true that I did,” she replied, in a low tone, 
but ” 

Do you not know that breakfast is waiting ?” said 
Mrs. Bostwick, entering the room at that moment, 
interrupting what she was about to say; and, her 
cousin not waiting to hear, turned at once to leave the 
room. 

He went silently into the breakfast-room, and during 
the meal, which was a quiet one, he took but little 
notice of her, and was the first to arise from the 
table. 

Wait a moment, Eobert. I want to speak with 
you before you go out,” said his mother, as he was 
about to leave; and Irene, surmising that her pres- 
ence was not desired at this interview, went to her 
room, leaving them together, and wrote, without delay, 
the answer she had determined to send to Frank ; more 
than anxious now to have it over with, that she might 
go to her cousin and tell him that there was no longer 
an engagement between them. It was a very short 
epistle she wrote, but long enough to tell him that she 
could not be his wife, that her heart was another’s, that 
she had been mistaken in thinking that she had ever 
loved him, and to beg him to forgive her the pain she 
knew the letter would cause him, and release her from 
her engagement; 

She sealed it, directed and stamped it, and sent Fa- 


148 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


vette out to mail it without delay. After it was gone 
she seemed to breathe freer, and, going down-stairs into 
the parlor again, began playing a lively waltz, trusting 
that, thereby tracing her whereabouts, Robert would 
come to her. 

But he did not come. The gay measure of the waltz 
jarred on his ear as he passed through the hall and out 
of the house, in company with his mother. 

She played on, wondering why he did not seek her. 
The servant entered after a time, bearing a card on a 
salver. She took it up and read the name of the Count 
Beaurynski. 

Take it to my aunt,” she said. 

She has gone out with Mr. Robert, and the gentle- 
man wishes to see you.” 

Her aunt and cousin gone out without saying a word 
to her I This was an odd thing for them to do, and 
she was not able to understand it. She arose and went 
to the Count. He came forward to greet her as she 
entered, wondering how it was possible that so rare a 
flower had sprung from so plebeian a stem. 

It was the first time he had ever seen her alone. 
Taking her by the hand, he led her to a sofa, seating 
himself by her side. She had not spoken a word to 
him, but had simply bowed in greeting when she en- 
tered ; and he broke the silence by saying, — 

I have called to say good-by. I am going away.” 

Going away !” she repeated, in surprise. “ When ?” 

This afternoon.” 

^^So soon?” she said, slowly and thoughtfully, as 
if she could scarcely realize that what he was saying 
could be true. She was looking absently out of the 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


149 


window, wondering whether it could be possible that 
her aunt^s coldness was on account of her indifference 
to this man. He thought she was regretting that he 
was about to leave. 

Yes; I leave this afternoon and go direct to the 
Pacific Coast,’’ he continued, endeavoring to read her 
thoughts all the while. 

“ What a long journey it will be !” 

“And lonely, too,” he answered. “Oh, Miss Pat- 
ton, — Irene, — if I might only take you with me ! If 
you would but accompany me, the journey will seem 
short, and the joy and pleasure of your society un- 
ending. Consent to go with me, and I will be your 
devoted slave.” He seized her hand and held it tightly 
in both his own as he spoke, eagerly awaiting her reply. 
She turned her face away from his, attempted to with- 
draw her hand, but made no answer. Encouraged by 
her silence, he continued, earnestly, — 

“ I love you, Irene, passionately, devotedly, and I 
cannot live happily away from you !” She could feel 
his warm breath close to her cheek as he brought his 
face nearer to hers and put his arm about her waist, 
drawing her forcibly towards him. She struggled 
to release herself from his embrace ; he but tightened 
his clasp. 

“ Oh, my beloved, come away with me ! Let me 
protect and care for you from henceforth !” He was 
pressing burning kisses on her lips, against her will. 
She cried out in distress, wrenched herself finally away 
from him, and stood before him, her hair dishevelled, 
cheeks burning, and eyes flashing. 

“What are you saying to me?” she inquired, ex- 
18 * 


150 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


citedly. ^^Are you asking me to marry you, or are 
you but taking advantage of my helpless position 

The Count dropped his eyes, — only for a moment, 
however, — then arose and stood beside her, saying, 
excitedly, — 

Marriage is but a form ! Surely if we love each 
other, that is enough to insure our happiness !’’ He 
put out his hands towards her, but she stepped shud- 
deringly back out of his reach. 

“Do not touch me ! I never dreamed you could be 
so cowardly, so despicable !’’ she said, burning with 
indignation. Then, with voice trembling and eyes 
overflowing with tears, she immediately added, — 

“ I had such a high esteem for you ! How could 
you ever talk to me as you have?” 

Her tears brought him to himself again. 

“Forgive me!” he said. “I was mad I I did 
not realize what I was saying. Pardon me, do, I beg 
of you, in pity and kindness, and try to forget it 
all !” 

“If you are truly sorry, leave me! Go away at 
once, and do not ever speak to me again !” she an- 
swered him. 

The full realization of the shamelessness of his 
proposal burst upon him as he looked upon her, 
and she seemed dearer to him than ever before, 
now that he had wounded her. He longed to comfort 
her distress. He would have even besought her to be 
his wife, so sincerely did he love her, and regret the 
words that passion had put in his mouth ; yet he knew 
that, after what had been said, such a proposal would 
be ill-timed and useless. He had sacrificed his self- 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


151 


respect and put her out of his reach ; and, since she 
had begged of him, if he was truly sorry for what he 
had said, to say no more, but leave her presence, he 
could only prove his sincerity by doing as she re- 
quested. So, bowing low, in sign of respect, he passed 
silently out of the house and went his way. 

When he had gone, she went up to her room, and, 
locking herself within, gave full vent to her grief. 
Tender thoughts of home came to her there in her 
loneliness. Why, oh, why had she ever left it and 
come hither ? She had had many annoyances to battle 
with there, but no insult had ever been tendered her 
within its homely walls. She might now have been 
happily married, never having known her cousin. Her 
cousin might never be more to her. What was to 
become of her if he should withdraw his smiles from 
her? 

Her aunt came rapping at her door shortly before 
noon, and entered smiling, showing some of her former 
warmth and fervor, as Irene, with manner nervous in 
the extreme, opened the door for her. 

‘‘ You seem to be seeking retirement up here, locked 
up as you are in your room said Mrs. Bostwick, as 
lightly as she could. She had come hither determined 
to have a talk with Irene that she trusted would have 
the effect of breaking up the attachment between Rob- 
ert and her, and assumed a gayety she did not feel, 
with the hope of covering up her purpose. Irene’s 
answer was of much help to her in proceeding, for she 
said, — 

You went out without telling me, and I had no 
company to seek.” 


152 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


Yes, to be sure. I had not time to stop and ex- 
plain. We went to meet an incoming steamer from 
Europe, — Robert and myself, — and thought we were 
late, though the boat had not come yet when I left 
the wharf; but I waited until I was tired, and left 
Robert to note the time of its arrival and be there to 
meet it.” 

A steamer from Europe ! How I wish I could 
have gone with you ! IVe always wanted to see one 
return or leave, laden with passengers. I never saw 
an ocean steamer in my life,” said Irene, regretfully. 

“ I^m real sorry. I never thought you would care 
to go, and so did not stop to ask you. Robert was so 
impatient to be off! You see, it was Mrs. Frothing- 
ham and her niece, Celia, we went to meet, and Robert 
is very fond of Celia ; I am glad to know that he is, 
for she is immensely wealthy. IVe told you about 
her before, have I not?” inquired Mrs. Bostwick, with 
well-assumed indifference. 

“ Yes ; you have spoken of her often, but never of 
her and Robert together.” 

No, I presume not. Robert does not like to have 
me speak of his private affairs. Yet I don’t suppose, 
after all, he would mind my telling you. They would 
probably have been married by this time had not your 
. uncle’s death occurred when it did.” 

Mrs. Bostwick could see the color leave Irene’s 
cheek while she talked, and her eyes seemed to be en- 
treating her to say nothing more on a subject every 
word of which was stabbing her to the heart’s core. 
She shifted the topic in pity. 

The Count Beaurynski called while I was out.” 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


153 


“ Yes/^ the answer came, coldly. 

“ Did you see him 

Yes.” The color was coming back into Irene’s face. 

He is going away.” 

‘^How did you know? Have you seen him, also?” 
Irene inquired, looking into her aunt’s eyes with a 
startled expression. 

** No ; but there is a basket of flowers below that he 
has sent to you, with his compliments and a farewell.” 

To me !” Irene arose from the side of the bed, 
where she had been sitting, with defiant manner and 
flashing eyes. 

Mrs. Bostwick was watching her closely. 

“ Yes, of course. Why not ?” 

Ah, indeed, why not,” answered Irene, recovering 
her composure. Would it not have been more nat- 
ural for him to have sent them to you, since he said 
good-by to me in person ?” 

What else did he say?” queried her aunt. The 
color arose and completely covered Irene’s face again, 
as she answered, impetuously, — 

“Must I repeat all that he said? I fear that I 
cannot recall everything.” 

“ No, Irene, by no means. I wanted to know only 
whether he spoke to you of marriage. I know he 
cares for you.” 

“ Marriage !” Irene repeated, as if in amazement ; 
then, bursting into a hysterical laugh, she hid her face 
in the pillow of the bed. Turning it again towards her 
aunt, with tears in her bright eyes, she said, — 

“ He asked me to go away with him, to be his mis- 
tress ! That is what he said to me when he called.” 


154 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


^'Tlie coward!” broke out Mrs. Bostwick. 

Irene, what did you say, dear? What did you do? 
Without me here, too !” 

Yes ; if you had been here he would never have 
said it, I am sure !” and, going over to her aunt, she 
fell at her feet, exclaiming, ‘^Oh, why did you not take 
me with you when you went out this morning? Why 
did you leave me behind ? I might have been spared 
so much pain and humiliation I” 

Never mind, dear. He is a heartless villain, to 
talk so to my pretty, unprotected Irene. Forget him, 
and what he said. He is gone now. Let us talk of 
other things.” And she tenderly smoothed back the 
hair from Irene’s forehead. 

Tell me, my dear, when do you intend to marry ?” 
she continued, after waiting for Irene to recover from 
her sudden outburst of weeping. 

To marry ?” Irene inquired, in surprise. “ Marry 
whom ?” 

Why, the gentleman you promised to marry before 
you left home, — Mr. Bay nor, of course. You have 
not changed your mind, have you?” 

You advised me to wait.” 

“Did I? True; so I did. I had forgotten about 
it. Yet, I think now that perhaps it is better as it is.” 

“ How?” 

“ That you marry him, as you intended. You may 
not do better by waiting, after all. You might, per- 
haps, if I could help you ; but if I have to give up 
my home here, I may be unable to do that.” 

“ Are you going to give up your home here ?” 

“I may be obliged to do so. Your uncle Robert 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


155 


left very little money when he died, and I cannot 
afford to keep up the establishment much longer, for 
my means will not permit. The thought of living 
without the conveniences to which I have grown ac- 
customed is heart-rending. I am sure I don’t know 
what I am to do ! To be sure, when Robert marries 
Celia Frothingham everything will be different. They 
will probably live here with me, or I will live with 
them, I suppose. Only my position in my home will 
be different, of course; not so independent as it has 
been heretofore.” 

An expression of pain that made her look very old 
rested on Mrs. Bostwick’s face, and she summoned a 
few tears to her aid. Irene was much moved. 

^^Dear Aunt Mollie, I never dreamed of such a 
change for you. I am so sorry to hear of it !” Her 
arms entwined themselves lovingly about her aunt’s 
neck. 

“Of course, Robert, even after he marries, will 
always see that I am properly provided for.” The 
arms loosened a little, and a great quivering sigh forced 
itself from Irene’s throat, but she said nothing. “ It 
will doubtless be wiser, after all, for you to marry Mr. 
Raynor, as it is better to live moderately all your life 
than to know wealth and luxury the greater part of it, 
until they have become second nature and necessity, 
and then be deprived of them, my child. He is a 
good man, too, is he not ?” 

“Who? Oh, Mr. Raynor? Yes.” 

“ Well, he is certainly of good family, and has an ex- 
cellent position ; and you — love him — too, I suppose ?” 

The question was asked hesitatingly. 


156 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


“ I do not know.” The answer was firm enough. 

“ Well, at least you respect him. That is sufficient 
to insure happiness. I did not love your uncle, but I 
respected him and made him a good, true wife, and 
was happy with him.” 

Had she ever been really happy, — this selfish, change- 
ful creature, who had looked to her husband as to one 
whose business it was to gratify her caprices and fur- 
nish her with the luxuries and the necessities of home 
and life ? and did she make her husband happier for 
being his wife ? Irene wondered, as the words of the 
old man, who had taken her hand at parting in her 
home at Newbridge, May you make some good man 
happy,” came back full of secret meaning to her now. 

“Perhaps, if you had loved him you would have 
been even happier,” she ventured to suggest. 

“What need of love? I was contented enough 
without it ! I had everything I needed or could wish 
for.” 

“ Yes ; you married a rich man, but Mr. Raynor is 
not rich. How could I ever fill up the void that ab- 
sence of love would make in my life were I to marry 
him ?” 

“Nonsense ! You are such a child ! Don’t marry 
him if you think you will not be happy with him. 
Why did you promise yourself to him in the first 
place ?” 

Why, indeed ? The question had asked itself of her 
a hundred times before. 

Favette came in at this moment and called them to 
lunch, and they went down together without making 
any effort to continue the conversation. 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


157 


CHAPTER XV. 

After wliat her aunt had confided to her concern- 
ing her own and Robert’s private affairs, Irene no 
longer felt free to extend her visit; and, after lunch 
was over, she went to her room to think what course 
she should pursue. 

Her head and heart were aching; and her mind was 
unsettled. All thoughts of returning to Newbridge 
were odious, and the prospect of remaining in the city, 
without money or friends, hopeless. Amid the maze 
of wild, impracticable plans and ideas that went whirl- 
ing through her head, there seemed but one light shining 
forth in the darkness ; one true heart only, one loving 
friend, who would stand by her side alike in success 
and trouble, never failing her when all others would, 
— Frank Raynor; to him she knew she could always 
look up with confidence and esteem, even if she did 
not love him. It would have been better for her to 
have kept her word with him, only it was too late to 
think of that now. The letter had been sent. Oh, 
that she had delayed it but a day longer ! 

If she had only remained at home, she would never 
have known this new love that had come to her. New 
love, — no, first love it was. The feeling she had for 
Frank was entirely different. 

She had first felt the influence of love during those 
quiet and happy days at Long Branch, when she had 
looked into the tender gray eyes of her cousin. She 
14 


158 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


had painted then more to please him than to gratify 
herself, and because he praised her work and the artist 
was his friend. She hung on every syllable he uttered, 
though he had never spoken of love, and she would 
have given up home, friends, and ambition for him 
had he so besouglit her. Once she had run against him 
in the hall of the cottage, when it was dusk, before the 
lamps were lighted, and he had caught her in his arms 
and kissed her ; and when she had attempted to chide, 
he silenced her with more kisses, saying, “ We are 
cousins, you know.’’ After that there had been many 
kisses and caresses exchanged, and in the light of his 
smiles she had forgotten all else; and now her faith in 
him was shaken. Were all men alike? Did they 
but send her flowers, praise her beauty, and seek 
her society only to entertain themselves, to while away 
an idle hour, or to accomplish some base design? No, 
not all; it had not been so with Frank; his purpose 
had been true and honorable, and he had loved her 
honestly and faithfully without doubt notwithstanding 
her neglect of him. She arose, and going to the little 
trunk in the corner of the room unlocked it and took 
therefrom the ring he had given her when she promised 
to be his wife, and slipped it on her finger again. She 
had forgotten to return it with the letter she had sent ; 
now she was wishing with all the earnestness of her 
selfish nature that she had forgotten even to send the 
letter. 

A servant rapped on her door and entered, handing 
her a card. Her head seemed to whirl around and she 
was scarcely able to realize that she saw aright as she 
read the name, — Frank Raynor.” Why had he come 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


159 


to New York without letting her know beforehand, 
she wondered, and instantly the thought flashed through 
her brain that, since he was here, he would, of course, 
not receive the letter she had mailed him that morning, 
and she could perhaps induce him to return it un- 
opened; if she succeeded, then their engagement should 
stand. Yes, better be his wife — since Robert did not 
love her, but had been only amusing himself in her 
society in the absence of a dearer one — than to endure 
life again as she otherwise must in her home at New- 
bridge. Her love for her cousin would always live in 
her heart, she was certain, and she should always look 
back tenderly to the happy days spent in his company 
but since she must leave her aunt’s and go to her 
father’s home or Frank Raynor’s, she preferred the 
home of the latter. She brushed back her curls and 
tried to look cheerful and happy as she went down to 
meet him. 

Left alone in the parlor, while the servant had gone 
to announce his presence, Frank took a hasty look 
around the room, allowing his eyes to rest at length 
on a magnificent basket of natural flowers resting 
on a stand near by. Bending over that he might 
inhale their fragrance, he caught sight of a card, bear- 
ing on it Irene’s name and that of the Count Beau- 
rynski. 

Taking it up, he read the words of farewell it con- 
tained with set lips, This is the end of it all,” he said, 
half aloud; ^Hhis is the last act of the drama.” He 
paced up and down the parlor slowly and in deep 
thought, still holding the card in his hand, while he 
waited for Irene to appear. She came at last, but 


160 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


hesitated a moment at the door-way, as he looked 
towards her, shocked at his changed appearance. 

Oh, Frank she said, with tone full of regret, 
going towards him and extending her hand. It came 
upon her all at once that she was the cause of this 
great change in him, and she was overcome by a 
feeling of self-reproach. I have been cruel to you. 
I ought to have written long ago, but I never dreamed 
that you cared so much ; you were so severe in that last 
letter you wrote that I was angry and would not answer 
it at once. Can you ever forgive me?’’ she said, in 
distress. 

He surveyed her calmly as he led her to a seat. 

‘‘ I could wait no longer. I have come to learn what 
you intend to do. You promised to return soon,” he 
said. 

“I know, I know; but the time passed so fast I 
never realized that I was so long away. I meant to 
have returned before this. Forgive my negligence of 
duty, I beg of you.” 

He looked down at the card which he still held in 
his hand, and, quietly extending it towards her, said, — 
I took the liberty of admiring those flowers, not 
knowing, at first, that they were yours.” 

^^The flowers? I had not seen them,” she said, 
confusedly, taking the card from his hand and reading 
what it contained. 

He watched her face as she read and saw every 
vestige of color flee from it, while involuntarily her 
hand went up to her heart. Silently she went over 
and replaced the card among the flowers again, and he 
noticed that her hand trembled violently as she did so ; 


MIST A KEN PA THS. 1 6 1 

but she made no comment either on the flowers or the 
sender. 

“ Irene, look at me,” he said. She raised her eyes 
to his face. I have suffered on account of your silence 
more than you can ever know or understand. I have 
come here now to solve the doubt, which is almost 
killing me.” She continued to look up at him in 
silence. I have begun to think, to believe, that you 
love another.” Her face flushed crimson, and she re- 
called the letter she had sent. Ah, I was right, I see. 
I began to feel, to know it. I came here to seek con- 
firmation from your own lips of what I have suspected, 
and to release you ” 

^^Oh, Frank, Frank, you do not mean it!” she in- 
terrupted, throwings herself at his feet, and bursting 
forth into pitiable sobs. He, even he, was casting her 
off*, and her only hope was slipping away from her. 

If you wished to be released, I was going to add ; 
never unless you wish it,” he added eagerly, raising 
her up and holding her in his embrace, and kissing her 
for the first time since he had come. She wept on his 
shoulder, saying faintly and brokenly, — 

I was angry with you only for writing so harshly 
to me; surely you will forgive me?” 

And you love me yet, and will marry me?” 

“Yes, yes, to be sure I will; you must not doubt 
me.” She was almost hysterical, yet all the while her 
conscience seemed censuring her. 

“ Prove it to me by becoming my wife at once, — to- 
day.” 

“ To-day ?” she repeated, starting away from him in 
surprise. 
l 


14 * 


162 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


^^Yes, to-day, — why not? We should have been 
united long ago. The doubts that have been driving 
me almost wild for weeks must be thus appeased. I 
determined upon it before ever I came here. The en- 
gagement must either be broken off or the marriage 
take place without further delay 

‘^But what will my aunt and mother think 

What does it matter to you or me what they think, 
so long as we love each other ? I have waited too 
long already. I have always consulted your wishes 
heretofore. Now I ask you to carry out mine. If 
you love me you will not stop to think of your mother 
and aunt, but of yourself and me. Everything can be 
afterwards explained satisfactorily to the others, with- 
out doubt.” 

Well, let it be as you desire,” she answered him, 
when he had finished, thinking that a season of 
doubt and suspense that would otherwise intervene 
would thus be avoided. 

They talked afterwards with her aunt, who, much 
to Irene’s surprise, looked on the plan of their imme- 
diate union with much favor. 

You shall be married this evening, here in my 
house,” she said. 

And we will afterwards leave at once for Boston, 
and visit my mother and sister,” added Frank, turning 
to Irene. 

How very romantic it will be !” continued Mrs. 
Bostwick, clapping her hands in childish glee. 

Irene said nothing, but after Frank had taken leave 
of her she went to her room. It seemed as if her 
heart would never beat naturally again, it kept up 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


163 


such a labored, spasmodic action now. Yesterday she 
was full of hope, joyous, and happy ; to-day she was 
burdened down with despair. 

What a sober face you have, for one who is about 
to become a bride said her aunt, coming into her 
room and observing her silent agony. 

Oh, aunt, dear aunt ! Why did you not otfer 
some objection to its taking place so soon?’^ Irene 
cried out. 

“ Why, is not one time as good as another ? I said 
what I thought you wanted me to say. What does it 
matter, anyway ? I thought it would be pleasanter for 
you both to have it happen here than at your home ; 
besides, I did not wish to seem inhospitable.” 

A low moan escaped Irene. 

Cheer up ! Don’t look so glum ! You don’t take 
the right view of people and life. I can’t understand 
why you act as you do, anyway. You like him well 
enough, don’t you ? I am sure I don’t see what better 
you can do now.” 

Irene could not answer her. She would have liked 
to have waited, — waited until she could have seen her 
cousin again, and have given him an opportunity for 
finishing what he had started to say to her that morn- 
ing. 

It was all over at last. They were married quietly 
in the back parlor of her aunt’s house by Mr. Bird, 
in the presence of his father and mother and Mrs. 
Bostwick. Robert was not there. 

It had seemed a very sad affair, though Irene bore 
up through it all with wonderful fortitude. A telegram 
had been sent in the afternoon by Frank to his mother. 


164 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


announcing their coming, and slipping away from the 
little company as soon as she could after the ceremony 
was over, Irene went up to her room to see that every- 
thing belonging to her had been packed and to be 
alone for a moment. There was no light in the hall- 
way leading to her room save the reflection from the 
lighted gas below. As she turned the knob of the door 
and was about to enter, a hand was laid heavily on her 
shoulder, and, turning in affright, she saw her cousin 
standing beside her. 

Come with me. I want to speak with you,’^ 
he said, in a husky voice, as he took hold of her 
arm and led her down the hall to the front of the 
house, into a small open room formed by the swelled 
front. 

He took her face between his hands and turned it 
towards the window, so that the moonlight from the 
street streamed in upon it. 

Is it true, wdiat they have been telling me, that you 
were married this evening, to — to ’’ 

Mr. Raynor ? Yes she answered, firmly enough, 
though she dropped her eyes, that he 'might not look 
into them. 

And you love him he continued. She did not 
answer. “Tell me; do you love him?’’ he repeated, 
removing his hands from her face and holding her arm 
so tightly that it pained her. 

“ What does it matter to you ?” she answered, en- 
deavoring t(f free herself from his grasp. 

“ What is it to me ? Everything ! Have I no right 
to know the truth from your lips, when you have won 
my heart, and taught me to love you ?” 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


165 


Stop, in mercy, I beg of you !” she interrupted. 
“You knew that I had promised him 

“Yes; I knew it, but I did not think you would 
marry him, for I thought — I believed — that you loved 
me all the while, and that you would certainly break 
with him. Oh, Irene, Irene ! how could you bid me 
hope with eyes and lips, when in your heart you loved 
another 

“It is not true ! It is not true ! I never cared for 
him as I do for you. I have never loved any other 
but you in my life. I thought you were going to 
marry the one you met at the steamer, who was rich ! 
Oh, Robert, I had no other hope ! Even now I 
scarcely realize the step I have taken ! You never 
told me that you cared for me 

Her tone and manner were pitiful, yet he did not 
seem to heed them, but, releasing his hold, pushed her 
ever so slightly from him. 

“And you married without love? Miserable wo- 
man He turned and left her standing there, with- 
out another word. 

“ Robert ! Robert ! stay one moment ! Listen !” she 
called to him. He did not hear her, or if he did he 
made no sign, but went on his way ; and the poor over- 
wrought body, with its harassed mind and broken 
spirit, at last succumbed to the tension which trouble 
had wrought upon it, and she fell on the floor in a 
swoon. 

There Mrs. Bostwick found her when sTie came to 
see what was detaining her so long. She called aloud 
for help. Frank, with a premonition of evil, sprang 
up the stairs with a bound ; when he saw Irene stretched 


166 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


out on the floor there, her face upturned amid its mass 
of golden curls, looking so white and still in the moon- 
light, he caught her up in his arms, and clasped her to 
his breast, crying out, in despair, — 

Irene ! oh, my lovely Irene, what has happened ? 
She is dead ! She is dead 

^^No, she is not dead ; she has fainted. That is all. 
Bring some water to me, quick ! Here, chafe her 
hands, while I sprinkle her face! What has brought 
this about, I wonder I Look I She has not been in 
her room at all said Mrs. Bostwick, excitedly. 

A physician was sent for, and until he came they 
worked away with her. Slowly, life struggled back, 
but consciousness did not return with it. The eyes 
that opened and looked about had no recognition in 
them for any one. 

‘ The physician inquired into the probable cause of 
the swoon ; and they told of her recent and sudden 
marriage, and suggested that perhaps the excitement 
overcame her. 

Perhaps so,’’ the physician said aloud, but to him- 
self he said, There is more besides.” 

The journey to Boston was necessarily postponed, 
and Frank sent a request to his mother to join him at 
the bedside of his sick wife. She came immediately, 
— a dear, good woman, whose presence was a great 
comfort and solace to him at this time. 

For days Irene tossed in a fever, unconscious of all 
about her. 

She will come out all right, for she is young and 
full of life and vigor. Her mind and body simply 
gave way under too great strain.” So the physician 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


167 • 


said, by the way of encourageruent to the sorrowing 
husband. 

One morning, acting on his mothei:^s advice, Frank 
took a walk after breakfast. Irene was yet uncon- 
scious of her surroundings, though it was very nearly 
a week since she had first been taken, and, as her con- 
dition was considered critical, he would not leave her 
longer than was required for needful rest. 

Robert had gone away from home the evening 
of the wedding, saying, in a short note he left for 
his mother, that he was going out of the city for a few 
days, yet giving no reason for the sudden leave-taking. 
She understood why he had gone thus, having learned 
from the servants that he had been home that evening, 
though she had not seen him. 

As Frank walked along, he directed his steps towards 
the hotel where he had stopped on coming to the city, 
and where he had ordered his mail to be forwarded to 
him. Among the many letters he found there awaiting 
him was the one Irene had sent to him. She had put 
off telling him about it until they should be married, 
not willing to excite his suspicions beforehand, and, as 
she had not had opportunity, he knew nothing of it, 
and in surprise now opened and perused it, unable 
at first to fully realize its purport. When the truth 
forced itself upon him, awakening as from a dream, he 
said to himself,— 

She loves the Count Beaurynski. I ought to have 
known it when she paled so at the mention of his 
name, and at the sight of the flowers with his written 
good-by. Oh, why did I not suspect that her peni- 
tential grief on meeting me was but the outpouring of 


168 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


a conscience-stricken and despairing heart ! And we 
found her in a swoon so soon after her marriage! 
‘ Her mind and body gave way under too great strain/ 
the physician said. ^Tis true! ’tis true! Her mar- 
riage is repulsive to her ! 

Unselfish man, he never once upbraided her even 
in his thoughts for the wrong she had done him in 
thus taking him for her husband, — not once. His own 
grief was swallowed up in the knowledge of her dis- 
tress. He walked about the streets while deliberating 
over what was best for him to do under existing 
circumstances to make life endurable for her as his 
wife. He desired no counsel from any one. It was 
not his manner of working out a troublesome and per- 
plexing problem; he simply remained away from every 
one who knew him until he was calm and had himself 
determined how to act. 

She recovered consciousness in your absence, and 
has fallen asleep,’’ were his mother’s first words to him 
on his return to the house. 

I thank God for that,” he said, fervently. She 
will continue to improve now without doubt; and I 
can, therefore, leave her with less discomfort than when 
she was unconscious.” 

Are you going away ?” she inquired, in surprise. 

Yes; I found a letter at the hotel, where I ordered 
my mail sent, which contains news of such import as 
will necessitate my return to Newbridge at once.” 

Without Irene? How unfortunate.” 

Yes, without her,” he said, slowly ; but you will 
stay here and take good care of her, I am sure, since 
I must leave her; and if there is any change for the 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


169 


worse,” — he paused and choked back a sob, — 
telegraph me, that I may return at once. If she con- 
tinues to improve, as the doctor promised she would as 
soon as consciousness returned, she could not be in 
better hands than yours; and I will send or come for 
her when she is able to travel. Write to me every day, 
mother, and tell me how she progresses, and care for 
her tenderly and watchfully while I am away. I must 
leave in an hour, and will just steal in ever so softly 
and look at her as she lies asleep, — I’ll not disturb 
her,” he said, as his mother made a gesture of remon- 
strance. “ Surely you would not have me leave with- 
out seeing her ?” 

He went his way to her room. Favette was sitting 
there at the foot of the bed. She rose and quietly left 
when he entered. He approached the bedside where 
Irene lay with her face turned from him, and one of 
her arms outside of the coverlid, the sleeve pushed 
partly away from it. Almost it seemed like sacrilege 
to him to stand and look on her, as she lay helpless in 
sickness and unconsciousness in sleep, after what he had 
learned in her letter. 

‘‘Oh, my darling, why did I ever permit you to 
leave me!” he cried out, as he fell on his knees by 
the side of the bed and took up her hand, pressing it 
gently to his lips. She sighed in her sleep and turned 
her face towards him, drawing her hand away as she 
did so; her lips parted, and she murmured a name. 
Did he hear aright, or did he imagine it was Count 
Beaurynski’s ? 

“ She does not love me now ; but she shall, she shall, 
if it takes the rest of my life to win her,” he said, 
H 15 


170 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


half aloud ; and, leaning over, he lightly touched her 
lips with his own and hurried from the room. 

“ Be sure and write to me every day, and tell me as 
soon as she is able to travel,^^ he said, excitedly, as he 
kissed his mother at parting. 

That I will, rest assured. Take good care of your 
own health, my son ; you are looking too pale and 
thin, and are not well, I fear.” 

Oh, yes, I am. I have been working hard of late ; 
then worrying, too, about Irene, you know. I shall 
be all right in a few days. Don’t worry about me, 
but look after and take good care of her. Good-by.” 

He is working too hard, or the climate does not 
agree with him there in the West. He is not like he 
used to be,” said Mrs. Kaynor to herself. 


CHAPTER XVL 

Is it true, or is it some horrible dream ?” called 
out Irene, awakening from sleep several hours after 
Frank had taken leave of his mother. 

The words were spoken half aloud as if she were 
asking the question of herself; but the room was so 
still that they were heard distinctly by her who sat 
near the window and watched. 

What is it, my child ?” answered a tender voice, 
and Mrs. Raynor glided to the bedside and leaned 
over her. 

Who are you?” inquired Irene, not heeding the 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 171 

question, but staring with wide-open eyes into the face 
that bent over her. 

“ I am Frank’s mother, and yours now, my dear.” 

Then it is true ?” 

What?” 

That I am married to him.” 

‘‘Yes, it is true; do you not remember? But no, 
perhaps you do not, for you were taken ill soon after- 
wards, they said, and you have been unconscious for a 
long time.” 

A shudder passed over Irene as she answered, — 

“ Yes, yes ; I remember it all now ; and have you 
been here ever since?” 

“ Yes j Frank sent for me, and I came at once, and 
have been here ever since.” 

“ Where is Aunt Mollie?” 

“In her room, I think; shall I call her?” 

“ No, no, please don’t ; I am tired and thirsty.” 

Mrs. Raynor poured out for her a glass of cool water 
and placed it to her lips, lifting her with one arm into 
a sitting posture that she might swallow with greater 
ease. 

“ You are very kind,” said Irene, faintly, as she sank 
back again on the pillow, and Mrs. Raynor smoothed 
back the hair from her forehead. 

“ It is a pleasure to me to be of any use to ray son’s 
wife,” she answered, simply. “Is there anything 
more I can do now for you ?” 

“Nothing.” There were tears glistening beneath 
Irene’s long lashes. 

“ What a child she is ! a mere baby ! and she does 
not inquire for her husband; so odd of her!” Mrs. 


172 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


Kaynor said to herself, as she resumed her seat at the 
window. She took up the book she had put down 
and continued to read, glancing frequently towards the 
bed, where her charge lay so still that she thought she 
must have fallen asleep again.. 

‘‘ Mrs. Raynor,” Irene called out, so suddenly as to 
startle her. She approached the bedside again. 

Yes, my child.” 

Where is he ?” 

“ Frank ? Your husband ?” 

Irene nodded. 

He has returned to Newbridge.” 

“ Gone !” exclaimed Irene. 

Don’t worry, dear; he had to go. His business re- 
quired him, you know ; but he will come back when 
you are better, or you will go to him as soon as you 
are able to travel.” 

Did he say so ?” 

Indeed he did, — ^he did not want to leave you, but 
he received a letter this morning and had to go. He 
only went away a little while ago, and I have promised 
him to stay by you until you are fully recovered.” 

How strange it all seems. I wonder whether Frank 
has made a judicious marriage?” the old lady thought, 
as she again took her place by the window. 

At the mention of the word letter,” came back to 
Irene’s mind the remembrance of the one she had 
mailed to him on the morning of their marriage. If 
he returned to Newbridge he would receive it, and 
would certainly despise her if he should learn its con- 
tents. Something must be done. She asked to see 
Favette alone. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. I73 

Mrs. Haynor left the room, and Favette came in her 
stead. 

‘‘ Favette, quick ; get a pencil and paper, please. I 
must send a message,’’ she said, excitedly. 

Favette hastened to execute her commission, and 
with trembling hand she wrote a message, asking her 
husband to retain her letter unopened until he should 
see her. 

Send that by telegraph immediately, Favette. 
You will find money in my purse in the upper drawer 
of the bureau,” she said, handing what she had written 
to the maid, and sinking back exhausted on the pillow. 

A few days later, she received in reply a letter, which 
read : 

“Irene, — Your message came too late; the letter 
was forwarded to me in New York, and I read it there 
before leaving. Do not be troubled on account of it. 
I am prepared to do all in my power to make you 
comfortable and happy, and await with much eagerness 
the time of your arrival here, as I have been preparing 
your home for your reception. Let me know when you 
will be able to travel. 

“ Faithfully yours, 

“ Frank.” 

That was all. There was no way of her knowing 
the bitter heart-throes that dictated it; no chance for her 
to discover the sacrifice of pride it cost ; yet she was 
overcome by a feeling of unworthiness when she learned 
its contents. 


15 * 


174 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


CHAPTEK XVII. 

Frank Raynor had a temperament and disposition 
such as few men possess, — considerate, unselfish, and 
forgiving. He was of determined will and firm 
purpose, strong in his convictions of right and wrong, 
and ever ready to uphold the right. He was bitter in 
his dislikes, but not revengeful. He had many intimate 
friends, but no confidantes, — that may have been the 
reason that he seemed never gay, — though always 
agreeable among his friends. His manner in business 
was inclined to be very imperative, and many disliked 
him on account of his severity. He made new friends 
among men slowly, though he progressed rapidly in 
his acquaintance with women, being always attentive 
and respectful to them. 

You seem especially favored by the women,” a 
friend said to him, one day, as they left a party of 
ladies, who had detained him a moment in passing, 
while they were walking on the main street of New- 
bridge. 

“ I have a great regard and respect for all women,” 
he answered, quietly. 

For that one even ?” inquired his friend, pointing 
to a notorious person just driving past in her carriage. 

For that one ? No ! She sacrificed the distinguish- 
ing characteristic of true womanhood, when she became 
what she is,” he answered. 

He had great confidence in his own judgment; and 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


175 


when, after thoughtful deliberation, he came to any 
decision he believed to be right, it was almost an im- 
possibility to change him. After reading that last 
letter of Irene’s, he sought to make due allowance for 
her youth and inexperience. Most men would have 
become enraged and have deserted her under like 
circumstances. He never once dreamed of such a 
course. He pitied her, and thought only of how he 
could best make her life happy and win her love. He 
had left her lying there ill in the great city, because 
he thought it would be painful for her to have him 
near, and, besides, he wanted to bring her into her own 
home immediately on her return to Newbridge, and it 
was necessary that he should prepare it for habitation 
beforehand. 

He had called on her parents when he first came 
back, to explain why she lingered in New York. 
Mrs. Patton’s reception was not what he had anticipated 
and dreaded, — enthusiastic and over-familiar. She did 
not welcome him with words, even, but with manner 
cool and stiff ; led him into the parlor as though he 
were the greatest stranger in the world. It had cost no 
little sacrifice to her pride, and no little amount of self- 
control, for Mrs. Patton to overlook the fact that the 
management of her own family affairs had been inter- 
fered with when, without her advice and counsel, Irene 
had married away from home, sending to her only a 
telegram when it was too late to offer objection. So 
when she learned of Irene’s illness she said, — 

My poor, dear Irene, of course it made her sick to 
marry away from home, — you ought not have asked 
it of her. Why, she never did anything without my 


176 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


consent and counsel before. It was a shame for you 
to insist, for of course it’s been all your doings,” and 
as she poured forth a volley of sobs Frank was beside 
himself with disgust, and was unable to think of any- 
thing save the incident of months before, when she 
had burned the book Irene had borrowed. He disliked 
her more than ever now, because he felt that, had she 
not been so severe in her treatment and training of 
Irene, her life would have been happier and he might 
not now have so much to regret. He said as calmly 
as he could in reply, — ■ 

Well, it is too late now to change the manner of our 
marriage. I had hoped you would not care, as we were 
satisfied and happy, Mrs. Patton.” He could never call 
this woman mother. 

^'Well, it’s your planning and doings, and you’ve 
both got to abide by it ; but no good’s ever bound to 
come of a marriage that’s unknown to the knowledge 
and consent of the parents and that takes place away 
from under the parental roof, now mark my words,” 
she answered him, wiping her eyes on the corner of 
her apron. Her talk annoyed him, and he was glad 
when the call was ended. 

Congratulations poured in upon him from all sides. 
An account of his marriage appeared in the Newbridge 
papers, and he had to explain to so many people why 
Irene had not returned with him. Each day the 
papers took note of his movements and published 
them. “ He was furnishing his house,” Mrs. Ray- 
nor was expected on the morrow,” he had purchased 
an upright piano,” his sister was the wife of a promi- 
nent merchant in Boston,” Mrs. Frank Raynor was 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


177 


the guest of her aunt in New York/^ almost he ex- 
pected to read that his wife was in love with another. 
They seemed to find out everything and publish it. 

One day, as he was in a store making some purchases, 
Dora Clark came towards him, with a smile that bright- 
ened everything about her and manner full of life and 
good cheer, congratulating him on his marriage and 
talking pleasantly to him of Irene. 

Do you know, I foresaw this marriage that day 
we had the excursion on ‘The Heights.’ What a 
prophetess I was, to be sure,” she said, gayly. 

“What led you to think of such an event then?” 
he inquired. 

“ Oh, I could read in your eyes that you adored her, 
and was sure she could not long be proof against such 
homage and devotion as yours, and I am sure you will 
always be happy together.” 

“ I hope so,” he answered, earnestly, and turning to 
look again at some curtains which he had thought of 
buying, he called on her to pass judgment on them. 

“ Are you going to furnish the house completely be- 
fore Mrs. Raynor’s return ?” she questioned. 

“ I thought of doing so.” 

“I should think she would not like that. Every 
woman likes to superintend the selection and arrange- 
ment of her own household furniture. It’s one of the 
first pleasures of housekeeping.” 

“You think so? Now, I had a fancy that she 
would be better pleased to return and find her home 
all in readiness to receive her.” 

“I haven’t a doubt of it; and men don’t understand 
these things. Let me meddle a little. She could not live 
m 


178 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


with comfort in an empty house, to be sure ; but, if I 
were you, I would just get the absolute necessities for a 
beginning, — a fork, a plate, a spoon, a table, and a 
chair; even if you had to eat without table-cloth or 
napkins, for a time, rather than have every convenience 
and have them not suit her. There, have I said 
enough 

Frank was laughing at her merry banter. 

Not nearly enough ! So much am I impressed with 
the excellence of your judgment that I want to seek 
it further, and beg you to assist me in selecting these 
main essentials.” 

‘‘And nothing would please me better,” she an- 
swered. 

And with many hints thereafter from Dora Clark, 
and much able assistance from Mrs. Patton, who — re- 
covering somewhat from her former ill-feeling — volun- 
teered to lend a hand, enough of the house was 
furnished to make it habitable and comfortable; and 
there was more than a table and a chair and a spoon ; 
there were soft, luxuriant easy-chairs and sofas, a piano, 
handsome cabinets and mirrors, a beautiful clock that 
sounded the hour like soft cathedral chimes; there 
were also rich, thick carpets, with rugs scattered about, 
and heavy at all the doors; screens, pictures, 

and bric-a-brac, and a full set of china for the table. 
At this last addition Mrs. Patton ventured a remon- 
strance. 

“ It’s all nonsense,” she said. “ Irene will break one 
of these cups every time she washes them, she’s so 
careless. Plain ware is just as good, less expensive, and 
more serviceable.” 


MISTAKEN PATHS. I79 

She will not need to wash them/^ answered Frank, 
barely able to conceal his impatience. 

“ If she does not like the furniture, rugs or curtains, 
when she comes, she .can have them changed to suit 
her,’^ said Dora Clark, when all was in order. 

The kitchen and larder had been well stocked by 
Mrs. Patton, who had taken the furnishing of that 
part of the house under her own direction entirely, 
and had brought from her own cellar numberless cans 
of fruit, jelly, and honey, and similar delicacies, that 
were always to be found there; and a pleasant-faced 
mulatto woman was installed as housemaid, when 
Frank went over to the railway station, one evening, 
to meet Irene, who was, at her own request, returning 
alone. 

‘He hurried up to her as she alighted from the train, 
and, imprinting a kiss on her pale cheek, led her to a 
carriage in waiting. They were driven to the house 
of her parents first; and on the way thither he inquired 
after her health and the events of her journey, his 
mother and her aunt, but never in any way referred to 
the letter. She had been looking forward with dread 
to this meeting, fearing lest he should make mention 
of it, and trying to think what she would do or say in 
case he did, or even in case he did not ; and she had 
worked herself into a fit of nervous excitement, so 
that now, as he talked to her there in the carriage, she 
scarcely heard what he was saying, and failed to reply 
intelligently to any of his inquiries. Even after they 
had reached her father’s home, and the greetings were 
all over, and her mother was telling her all about her 
own home, she listened passively, feeling like a newly- 


180 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


caged bird longing for escape, yet seeing no way of 
obtaining it. 

A heavy quivering sigh escaped her, finally. They 
all heard it, but no one understood save her husband. 

My head aches, and I am so tired,’^ she said, by way 
of explanation, seeing they looked at her in surprise. 

The journey has been too much for you, I fear, in 
your weakened condition,’^ said Frank, considerately. 

I think we had better go to our own home, now, 
where you can have the rest and quiet you need.” 

Rest and quiet ! was she ever to know them again ? 
She cast her eyes wildly about the rooms of home that 
looked so small to her now, — the ceilings so low and 
the furnishing so homely, — after having lived in her 
aunt’s mansion ; yet she wanted to fall at her husband’s 
feet and entreat of him to let her remain where she 
was, the only place on earth — it seemed to her now 
— where rest or peace of mind might be obtained by 
her. 

But he had already brought her wrap to her and 
was waiting to help her on with it, so she arose me- 
chanically to enable him to do so. 

^‘We will walk home from here,” he said; ^Uhe 
moon is full, and I think the air will refresh you.” 
She sought to answer him pleasantly, and appear as 
happy as they all thought her,— but the effort was a 
pitiful one. The strangeness of her demeanor, how- 
ever, was attributed to her late illness, no one wondered 
at it; and she bade them good-night, and went her way 
with her husband. When they reached their destina- 
tion, lingering at the gate a moment before entering, 
he said, — 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 181 

This is to be your home, Irene, and may you ever 
find peace and comfort within its walls/’ 

^^Let us go within,! am cold,” was her only reply,, 
as she shivered in the moonlight, and pressed him 
forward. 

“ I feel faint,” she said, as they passed thro^i^h the 
parlors which were lighted in anticipation of their ar- 
rival. 

Sit here a moment, while I bring you a glass of 
water,” he said, leading her to a sofa. It was impossi- 
ble for her to conceal her agitation ; she wanted to 
entreat him to permit her to go away from this home, 
anywhere, out in the world, and be forgotten by him, 
rather than to remain. Her face was fevered and her 
hand trembled perceptibly, as she took the glass of 
water which he brought to her. 

The journey was too much for you, I fear,” he 
said. 

Perhaps; but I am feeling better, now,” she replied, 
with an effort, anxious to appear contented for his 
sake, even if she could not feel so. 

The clock on the mantel, in the adjoining room, 
chimed out the hour of ten. 

“ What a pleasant sound !” she exclaimed, looking 
about for its source. 

“You like it? It is the clock in the next room. I 
procured it among other things such as I thought were 
needed, and that I hoped might please you. If there is 
anything with which you are not suited, send it back 
and exchange it for what will please you. Would you 
like to look about the house?” he added. “It is not 
too late, if you feel strong enough.” 

16 


182 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


'^Yes, yes; I would like to see everything,” she 
answered hastily. 

He led the way through all the rooms, — part were 
bare and part were furnished. 

^^You can arrange the empty rooms to please your- 
own fancy ; I only had those fitted up that I thought 
were needed. This room I had arranged for your 
own,” he added, as he opened the door of a large room 
and lighted the gas that she might see it better, — watch- 
ino; her face while he listened to hear what she would 
say. 

It was furnished in white and gold. 

It is beautiful !” she exclaimed, involuntarily, 
overcome by the delicacy and beauty of its arrange- 
ment. 

I am glad you are pleased with it. It was after* 
my own idea. I like to see you in white, or with 
wdiite about you ; it seems so much better suited to you 
than anything else you wear. But it grows late and 
you are tired. May I ask you to sit here for a mo- 
ment, and listen to something I want to say to you?” 
She sat down on a low chair, near where she had been 
standing, dreading, yet seeing no possible way of avoid- 
ing what she was sure he was about to speak of at last, 
— that letter. He began in a low voice, — 

We are husband and wife.” Her face paled as he 
said this. “ I believed that you cared for me more than 
for any other when you pledged your word to be mine, 
— before you went away, — but you never realized then 
the true meaning of love, or you would not have so 
soon forgotten me.” He paused a moment to giiin 
further command of himself, and then continued : 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


183 


By chance, I learned what led me to surmise that 
another was winning your affections away from me, 
and I went to seek from your own lips the truth, de- 
termined, if what I had been led to believe was true, 
to release you from your promise to me. Yes, I would 
have given you up rather than, by taking to myself an 
unloving wife, to have shattered the hope of a happy 
future for both. You know too well the result of 
that visit to you, yet I feel that you will be better 
reconciled to your fate by knowing what I have reason 
to believe, that the man who won your heart is un- 
worthy of you, and never would have made you his 
wife. He fancied you, no doubt. He admired your 
youthful innocence, grace, and beauty; but, had he 
loved you truly and honestly, he would have taken you 
to himself and never have hesitated because of your 
poverty.’’ He was about to add station;” but fearing 
to offend where there seemed to be no necessity, and it 
could do no possible good, he continued : But he was 
too worldly and cowardly, and were you now free to 
marry whom you chose, he would never seek you for 
his wife.” 

He was thinking of the Count Beaurynski, while 
she thought only of Robert Bostwick. 

You wronged both yourself and me when you con- 
sented to our marriage. Your future happiness must 
pay the forfeit.” 

She attempted to answer. He motioned her to silence, 
and continued, — 

I do not mean to chide, for I have forgiven you, 
Irene. I, being blinded by love, never paused to con- 
sider that your marriage with me might result from a 


184 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


sense of obligation and duty, and be but the retrieving 
of an almost broken vow by a despairing woman. I 
love you, Irene, notwithstanding all that has come be- 
tween us ; and if love and devotion ever meet with 
fitting reward, we will yet, in the future, secure happi- 
ness with each other. We are husband and wife, and 
yet such a relation can never be perfected without love 
of each for the other. You do not dislike me, I feel 
certain ; yet you would learn to hate me if I sought 
from you all the duties and requirements of marriage, 
without a perfect union of our hearts. I will not do 
this; neither will I consent to your living apart from 
me in the world, for people would toy with your name, 
and make your life wretched with their idle gossip. 
No ; I have promised to love, honor, and protect you, 
and I will keep my word. Here you may live above 
reproach, and the world need never know that you are 
not satisfied if you are willing to make sufficient 
sacrifice to keep up such appearance. I cannot spare 
you the silent heartache which you will doubtless suffer; 
it will be the inevitable consequence of your mistake, 
yet you can be comfortable here, and may even find 
enjoyment. I shall hope that time may soon come 
when your love will be given to me, but may Heaven 
restrain me from ever entwining with these arms and 
holding in my embrace for one moment a loveless 
wife.” He drew his hand across his eyes, as if to 
brush away some distressing picture from his vision. 

“ That is all I have to say. I will leave you now. 
Try and sleep, that in the morning you may feel 
stronger. The servant I have secured for you will 
have breakfast without your giving yourself any care 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


185 


about it. You are much in need of rest, — you are 
looking very pale. Call, if you need me; I shall be 
near at hand. Good-night.^’ Pressing a burning kiss 
upon her forehead, before she was aware, he left her. 

She tried to call out to him, but was unable to artic- 
ulate a syllable; she started to follow him, but in 
attempting to arise to her feet she fell in a faint on the 
floor. 

How long she lay there she had no means of know- 
ing; but when she recovered consciousness, struggling 
to her feet, she turned out the gas-light that seemed to 
cast a weird glare over her surroundings, recalling with 
frightful vividness the words she had listened to so 
short a time before. 

She staggered to the window, sank on the floor 
near it, and leaning on the casement, looked out where 
the moonlight spread so cold and still over the earth. 
There she remained until the moon ceased to hold its 
sway and the gray light of dawn had usurped its place. 
She recalled the days at Long Branch, and her cousin’s 
last words to her, and wondered how her husband had 
learned that lie would not marry her because she was 
})oor; and if he had not loved her, why had he spoken 
to her as he had on that night of her marriage? Her 
cheeks burned as she thought of her cousin, and grew 
cold as she thought of her husband. All her life long 
she had built her hopes for happiness on the future, 
and just when she might have realized them, in a 
moment of bitterness she had wrecked all. Life now 
stretched out before her a barren waste, made desolate 
by herself! — a life of mockery, — without hope! — a 
brave, noble man for a husband, whose love could find 
16 * 


186 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


no eclio in her own breast ; for, though her cousin was 
unworthy of her love, she could not displace his image 
in her heart and enthrone another at will. She threw 
open the window that the breath of the morning might 
cool her fevered cheek, saying aloud, I am unworthy 
of so good a husband, and such love as he bestows upon 
me ; but I will endeavor, as far as lies in my power, to 
repay his kindness, and to make his life happy. I will 
try to make his home and myself attractive at all times 
to him and his friends ; I will follow his wishes as far 
as I am able to divine them ; I will play for him, sing 
for him, and try to make him forget his sorrow ; and, 
though I can never love him, will seek to live worthy 
of his esteem.” Then arising, she bathed her face, 
arranged her hair and dress, so as to leave no trace of 
her night’s vigil, and went down-stairs. 

It was quite early; yet in the pleasant breakfast-room 
she discovered her husband sitting near a window 
with a paper in his hands. He was not reading, how- 
ever, for his eyes were looking out over the lawn, and 
his thoughts seemed far away. 

He was very pale, and looked like death, sitting 
there so still, that Irene was startled. He seemed not 
aware of her approach until she laid her hand upon 
his shoulder, when he turned his face towards her with 
a quiet smile, as if he had expected to find her there all 
the while. 

Silently she bent over and kissed him, and, immedi- 
ately arising, he stood before her and looked inquir- 
ingly into her face, as if seeking an explanation of 
this unexpected caress. 

“Frank,” she said, in answer, “promise not to hate 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


187 


me and I will try to make your life pleasant, and to 
return your affection ; only have patience with me, 
please, and it will be easier. I am so sorry for the 
wrong I have done you, and sometime — sometime, 
soon, very soon, all may be as it should be.” 

Her voice had fallen so low he could scarcely dis- 
tinguish the last words. 

Do not let us ever refer to the past again,’^ he said, 
^^but hope for the future. There, see, your trunks are 
coming already; will you have them taken to your 
room ?” 

“ Yes,” she replied, and herself led the way for the 
man who carried them, — the little trunk she had taken 
from home to the city and one great trunk that had 
belonged to her aunt, which contained the many pretty 
toilets she had given to her. Donning one of these, a 
house-dress of white cashmere with facings and trim- 
mings of delicate pink silk, and rearranging her hair 
high on her head, in a fashion most becoming to her, 
she ran a silver dagger through the golden mass, and 
returned to the breakfast-room again. Her husband 
was no longer there. The paper lay on the floor where 
it had fallen when he had arisen to greet her, but he 
was nowhere to be seen. She walked through the 
parlors, carefully observing and examining all that 
they contained. Pausing before the piano, she touched 
its keys with her fingers, then sat down and played 
over softly a soothing melody. 

Irene !” She started and turned quickly. Her hus- 
band was standing in the archway between the parlors. 

Breakfast will be served now, if you are ready for 
it,” he said. She arose and accompanied him. A 


188 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


small bunch of flowers was by her plate, and the 
mulatto-woman with white cap and apron stood in 
attendance near by. 

“ Arsine,” said Frank, addressing her, this is your 
mistress. I hope you will strive to carry out her wishes 
and please her in everything.” 

“ Yes, sir,” answered the woman, as she bowed and 
grinned, showing two rows of white, even teeth, and 
left the room to fetch the breakfast. 

Irene, taking up the flowers, bent her head over 
them, without speaking. The silence grew oppressive. 

‘‘ I think you will like Arsine, as she comes to us 
very highly recommended. Through Miss Clark I 
heard of her,” Frank said, at length. 

Miss Clark ?” 

Yes, do you not remember her? She was with us 
that day on ^ The Heights,’ ” his voice faltered. 

“ Yes, yes. I know who you mean now. It was very 
kind of her,” said Irene, and there followed another 
period of silence. 

She was scarcely able to keep back the tears, when 
the door opened suddenly and June came in, fresh and 
rosy, and with eyes sparkling with merriment. 

I came early to school so as to stop and see you 
on the way. Mamma said I might, if I wouldn’t touch 
anything nor ask any questions.” 

Irene caught her in her arms and hugged her to 
her bosom ; and the tears, that she had been trying so 
hard to keep back, fell copiously now as she kissed 
her. June stood abashed, unused to such an outburst 
of affection, and when Irene released her, looked regret- 
fully into her sister’s tear-stained face, saying, — 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 189 

^^Are you sorry I came? ’Cause if you are, I’ll go 
right away again.” 

“ No, no. I am glad. Don’t you see, I’m crying for 
joy at the surprise and pleasure of seeing you here. 
Take off your hat, and bring a chair to the table, and 
have breakfast with us.” She tapped the bell at her 
side, and told Arsine to fetch a plate, knife, and 
fork for June, and bade her eat, which the child did 
with hearty appetite, notwithstanding she had break- 
fasted at home only an hour before. 

Conversation was easier now with June there. She 
seemed to remove the restraint, and laughed merrily 
as she talked and looked about between mouthfuls. 
After the meal was over, Frank handed a little key to 
Irene, saying, This is a key to a drawer in the secre- 
tary, yonder. I had the lock made to order; and there 
are but two keys. I have one and this is the other. 
You will find there one of the essentials of housekeep- 
ing; and its contents will always belong to you, to 
do with as you like.” She took the key, and under- 
stood that there was money in the drawer without need 
of looking inside, and he kissed her cheek as he passed 
out of the house and went to his office. She stood at 
the window looking after him until June pulling at her 
dress turned her attention by saying, — 

What a pretty dress ; it makes you look like my 
big doll that Aunt Mollie brought to me.” Then, 
thinking to please her sister, Irene took her about over 
the house, showing her the rooms and what they con- 
tained ; all except one, the room next her own, which 
she attempted to open and found locked, 

‘^What’s in there?” queried June. 


190 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


Ghosts, I guess. I must find a key sometime and 
look in and see.’^ After June had gone on her way to 
school, she gave her directions to Arsine for the day, 
and finished by saying, — 

I will attend to my own room myself, as it has 
always been my custom ; but I shall expect you to care 
for the rest of the house.^’ Then she went immediately 
up-stairs and tried the key of her own room in the 
door of the room adjoining. It fitted, and unlocking 
it she went within. It was comfortably furnished as a 
sleeping-room, containing the personal belongings of 
her husband, and told a silent story that brought pain to 
her heart ; and she trembled as she went about putting 
things to rights, attempting to remove the air of loneli- 
ness that seemed to pervade. It was a sorry task, and 
brought so many sad reflections with it that she was 
relieved to get away into her own room again. 

She found many things to take up her attention and 
divert her thoughts that day; and Minnie Barnes came 
in and made a long call, and Dora Clark a short one ; 
then, in the evening, Marshall Bird dropped in and 
stayed some time. Irene play^ and sang while he was 
there, looking beautiful in a house-dress of pale laven- 
der and white. 

I have enjoyed the evening more than I can say,’^ 
he said to Irene as he was about to leave. You are 
such an entertaining hostess, Mrs. Raynor, I am much 
afraid you will grow weary with my numerous visits ; 
I shall want to come here so often.” 

You cannot come too often ; for Mr. Raynor — 
Frank — will be happier for your visits ; he thinks so 
much of you,” she replied. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


191 


^^Ah, but in a new home, with a lovely woman for 
a constant companion, who sits enthroned in his heart, 
even an old friend may sometimes be de tropj^’ he an- 
swered, pleasantly, as he bade them good-night. 

“ Why not ask him to come and live here with us? 
You are used to being together, and it will be pleasanter 
for you, will it not?’’ Irene inquired of her husband, 
after the minister had gone. 

Would you like to have him come?” 

Yes, very much,” she answered, so quickly and 
earnestly that he wondered whether his company was 
so distasteful to her that she sought refuge in another’s 
presence. 

She thought only that he needed the companionship 
and sympathy of his friend to compensate for what 
was lacking in his wife. 

Very well, then,” he answered ; I will ask him 
to come with us. Doubtless, he will be delighted with 
the idea.” 

The minister was grateful for his friend’s suggestion, 
and was soon installed as a member of his household. 

The meals thereafter were enlivened by his conver- 
sation, which was always light, agreeable, or instruct- 
ive; and the evenings passed rapidly and pleasantly 
when he was present. He had an inexhaustible fund 
of entertaining stories, and his mind was well filled 
with knowledge of many subjects. 

Old friends and people whom she had never known 
before, friends of her husband, came to call on Irene 
each day. She received every one with equal courtesy, 
dignity, and grace. Many came at first only out of 
respect to her husband, never thinking that they would 


192 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


care to know his wife; but continued to call there- 
after on her account mainly, and urgently invited her 
to visit them, so charmed were they all by her manner 
and welcome. 

expected to find her crude, unfinished, and 
ignorant; but she is positively fascinating; a handsome 
woman ; quite refined and cordial in manner ; and she 
dresses always in such exquisite taste. I must confess 
to being agreeably disappointed in her,” said one of 
these visitors to Dora Clark, one day, after having called 
on Irene. 

'^And did you think Frank Kaynor would marry 
such an one as you expected to find ?” inquired Dora. 

Men do such things, sometimes ; and I had heard 
that her people were so common.” 

^‘Not common,” answered Dora, as indignantly as 
if she were defending her own cause; ^^only plain 
people, who have never had the advantages of education 
and society that you have had.” 

Of all the visitors that came to her home, there was 
no one Irene welcomed more honestly and openly than 
Dora Clark. 

Come often, and informally, to see me, — you will 
be always welcome,” she said, one day, to her as she 
was leaving. 

Thank you, I will gladly do as you suggest ; for I 
feel as if I had a sort of claim on your home, some- 
how, since I had something to do with its first arrange- 
ment,” she answered, cheerily; and thereafter did 
happen in often, sometimes for a few moments only, 
sometimes for an hour or two, and she brought a happy 
atmosphere with her visits. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


193 


Minnie Barnes, too, ran in continually on her way 
to and from school, smiling and talking idly and 
pleasantly all the while. Yet Irene found no enjoyment 
in her light talk and trifling gossip, but ofttimes was 
wearied not a little by it. She studied her now, 
weighed what she said, and wondered how she had ever 
found interest in her society and conversation, for Min- 
nie followed her about the house, examining and crit- 
icising everything she saw, and asking curious questions 
in such a pleasant way as to compel an answer or in- 
vite offence, all the while retailing bits of unpleasant 
gossip that was current about people, even about Irene 
herself. 

^‘You know I tell you these little things that 
no one else would ever think of telling you, because 
you are so happy and independent, and we under- 
stand each other so well, having always been such good 
friends, that you won’t mind hearing them through me,” 
she would say, by way of preface, and smilingly relate 
all the irritating, disagreeable things that she had heard 
from time to time while Irene was away and since her 
return, about her sudden marriage away from home, 
and her parents ; and would ask all manner of ques- 
tions about Count Beaurynski and her cousin, until 
Irene grew to dislike her, dreaded to see her come 
in at the door, and was not sorry when, taking offence 
because her visits were never returned, she ceased to 
come at all. Irene scarcely missed her, so thoroughly 
was she beginning to appreciate and enjoy the com- 
panionship of Dora Clark instead, who came in like a 
burst of spring sunshine, and said no evil of any one ; 
whose words never carried a hidden sting, who never 
I n 17 


194 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


indulged in gossip at any time, and whose presence 
lent encouragement always instead of disparagement. 
Weeks grew into months more rapidly than Irene 
could realize; and it was astonishing to her to discover 
how little she saw of her husband, and how rarely she 
saw him alone. She spent a great deal of her time in 
a room that she had fitted up for a studio, painting 
assiduously, and with more earnestness than ever before, 
being anxious to do some work in art that would sell, 
hoping thereby to derive an income, which would 
enable her to provide for her personal needs without 
the aid of her husband ; wishing to free herself from 
any further dependence upon his bounty than was 
necessitated by her presence in his home. This desire 
increased as she became conscious that, instead of com- 
ing nearer to her husband, they were each day growing 
farther apart. He seemed to understand the false 
show of affection she had tried to keep up for a time, 
so she ceased it finally, and sought only to keep up the 
appearance of a happy married life before the world. 

Who would ever have thought that the daughter 
of John Patton would develop into such a charming 
and beautiful woman ?’’ said one woman to another, in 
a crowded drawing-room, on the occasion of a recep- 
tion given by a prominent citizen to a distinguished 
politician of the day. “ Frank Raynor evidently knew 
what he was about when he married her; and they say 
there is not a happier couple in Newbridge 

'^Unfortunate Newbridge,” thought Irene, who, 
standing near, overheard what was said ; and she 
moved away, leaning on the arm of her husband, 
smiling pleasantly all the while, in spite of the pain in 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 195 

her heart, seeking to keep up the semblance of so much 
happiness and of such a blissful married state. 

Mrs. Eaynor grows lovelier each day; everybody 
is praising her beauty. How proud you must be of 
her!’’ said Dora Clark to Frank, later on the same 
evening. She is so lovable, too. I want to be near 
her all the while, and fear I must weary her with my 
many visits ; yet she is so happy always that I forget 
my cares and am made happy myself in her presence,” 
she continued. Frank seemed abstracted and made no 
reply, so she turned away and left him to himself. 
Looking across the room to where Irene, with flushed 
and animated countenance, was conversing with the 
guest of the evening, he said to himself, — 

I believe she is happy. I have heard that women, 
many of them, are contented if only they may feed 
their vanity by adorning and beautifying themselves, 
so as to secure the admiration of society. It may be 
even so with her ; she seems always smiling, and has 
worn nothing but white since I told her it was enhanc- 
ing to her loveliness.” And he frowned as he watched 
her. 

She was dressed that evening in a long, trained robe 
of cream-white velvet, — no vestige of color about her 
save the delicate rose hue that came and went in her 
cheek. She wore about her neck a string of pearls that 
his mother had given her. He wondered why she wore 
them so constantly, coming, as they did, from his mother, 
since she cared so little for him ; and decided that it 
must be because they became her so well. Turning 
about, finally, that he might not see her, he sought 
diversion in the conversation of a merry party of 


196 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


friends near by, joining them with such a show of ex- 
cited interest as quite surprised himself and them. 

“ Are you ready to go home said a low voice at 
his side a few moments later, as a hand was laid lightly 
on his arm. He knew it was Irene’s before ever he 
turned and saw her face smiling up into his own. The 
others ceased talking at her approach, and looked on in 
quiet admiration. They envied him, no doubt, because 
of the semblance of what did not exist, he thought as 
he answered her, — 

I am ready to go, at your pleasure.” 

Let us go now, then,” she answered ; and bowing 
to his friends, he walked away in her company. 

When Irene reached the seclusion of her room that 
night, she sank into a chair in front of the mirror, and 
leaning forward, peered into it. She . was no longer 
smiling, but by the glare of the gas-light in her face she 
could trace the pathway of furrows that were already 
beginning to form about her eyes and mouth, where 
the smiles went so often out and in. 

“ Not yet eighteen,” she said, and yet so disciplined 
to pain that I could listen and smile alike at mention 
of Robert Bostwick and the Count Beaurynski ! Where, 
oh, where, am I drifting, and what is to be the end of 
it all ! Must I go always through the world with my 
face happy and my heart aching?” , She paced the 
floor excitedly, wringing her hands as she thought over 
the mockery of her present life, and tortured her mind 
with remembrances of her cousin, and his kisses and 
caresses. She had not heard of him, nor spoken his 
name, since the evening of her marriage, until to-night, 
when the guest of the evening had recalled having 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


197 


seen her that summer at Long Branch in the same car- 
riage with the Count Beaurynski ; and when she told 
him that she had been spending that summer with her 
aunt, Mrs. Bostwick, he said he had known her uncle 
intimately, and took occasion to recount to her a brilliant 
success which his son had lately achieved in his profes- 
sion. Every word of the recital was burned in her 
memory. It was a complicated case and concerned the 
settlement of a large amount of property. A college- 
mate of her cousin had been the one principally inter- 
ested, and having a high estimation of his ability as a 
lawyer, had engaged him to represent him. 

Forgetting her husband and all that she owed to 
him, she said, More successes will follow this one ; 
it is always the way ; and, perhaps, had I waited, he 
would have overlooked my poverty, and I might have 
become his wife % 


CHAPTER Xyill. 

When Irene and Frank had been married almost 
two years, Dora Clark came to live in their home. She 
had been invited to come, because Frank’s presence was 
required out of the city a great deal, about that time, 
in looking after the interests of the road, and he 
wanted to feel that Irene had a congenial companion 
in his absence. 

It was a great comfort for Irene to have this friend 
in her home; the minister even seemed happier for her 
presence, and never thought of seeking the seclusion 
17 * 


198 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


of his room while he was permitted to enjoy her society. 
She painted a little, too, and, at Irene’s suggestion, 
brought an easel into the studio, and a portion of each 
morning they spent there together at work side by side. 

She had been a member of their household but a 
short time when a new sorrow came into Irene’s life. 
She was hurriedly sent for one night to come to her 
father’s house, as her mother was dying. Some trouble 
of the heart, from which she had often before suffered, 
had suddenly and unexpectedly stricken her, and Irene 
arrived too late to see her alive. The sight of her 
father’s grief was heart-rending. 

Do not let her die ! save her ! oh, save her for me ! 
I cannot live without her !” he cried out continually, 
throwing himself upon the body, from which the life 
had already departed. It was some time before she 
succeeded in quieting him, and could induce him to go 
out of the room. Then taking tenderly the cold hands, 
hard and knotted with many years of toiling, she folded 
them across the lifeless breast. For the first time, in 
thinking of her mother, she did not recall her repri- 
mands and severe discipline ; but thought only of how 
much those hands had done for her; how they had 
smoothed the pillow of sickness, and held the needle 
many nights after days of hard work, while she was 
in bed asleep, preparing some garment of hers for the 
next day’s wear ; always toiling for her husband and 
children to the neglect of her own health and comfort. 
What wonder that she grew severe and hardened under 
the constant indifference that was shown to her in 
return ; and why, oh, why, had she not thought over 
all these things before it was too late to show kindness 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


199 


and appreciation, in return for the devoted self-sacrifice ? 
She could think of nothing else, and her heart was 
troubled and her grief intense. It added to her distress 
to see her father, after the burial was over, go silently 
about the house, gently touching and Caressing every 
article that had been his wife’s handiwork, resisting all 
her appeals to him to come with her for a little while, 
unwilling to leave the home that her mother had shared 
with him. She wept with him, seeing no hope of 
consoling him, and remained there with him a few 
days, until he had become somewhat reconciled to his 
loss. Then she persuaded him to have a quiet family, 
old acquaintances of his with whom he could board, to 
take up their abode with him, and to permit her to 
take June home to live with her. 

Frank found June a valuable addition to his family 
circle. They grew to be warm friends. They took 
long walks together, and he was constantly bringing 
home gifts to her such as pleased her childish fancy. 
Then she would watch at the window, when it was 
time for his home-coming, running out to meet him as 
soon as she caught sight of him, and it was a new and 
delightful experience for him to have some one watch- 
ing for his coming. Often he had pictured to himself 
the loved face of his wife at the window waiting for his 
approach, but the dreams” depart and stern reality,” 
unlike anything he had hoped for, had enacted quite a 
different part. 

I should think you would grow jealous of June ; 
she takes up so much of your husband’s attention, and 
he is always so willing to give it,” said Dora Clark, 
laughingly, one day at the dinner-table. 


200 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


“ If she makes him happier, I am not jealous, but 
pleased,’^ Irene answered. F^'ank looked up in sur- 
prise at her serious tone. 

Ah, I meant no offence. I was but jesting ; but 
you — you are in earnest,’’ said Dora, regretfully. 

Offence?” Irene laughed. “You did not offend 
me. I desire the happiness of every one, but my hus- 
band’s most of all. If I seemed serious, it was because 
— because I was thinking at the same moment you 
spoke, of how much there is in life to promote happi- 
ness, and yet how few there are who secure it; and 
what hollow shams pass often for it.” 

“You speak so earnestly that were I not so well 
acquainted with your home, your husband, and your 
surroundings, therefore realizing to the contrary, I 
should think that you had not found it,” said the min- 
ister, gayly. 

“Was I so serious as that?” said Irene, smiling. 
“ Well, I had in my thought one I have known for 
some time who is generous, sympathetic, forgiving, rich 
in friends, and comfortably endowed with this world’s 
goods, yet most unhappy, and was wondering why that 
comfort should be denied to such an one and granted 
to many far less worthy.” 

“ There are three distinctive elementary constituents 
of happiness which you have not accorded to your 
friend,” answered the minister, calmly. “ Contentment, 
religion, and love ; by possessing any one of which, or 
all three, I think one may be truly happy.” 

“ Do you really think so ?” inquired Irene, thought- 
fully. “ Now, to my mind, contentment means monot- 
ony of existence, and is death to ambition and pro- 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


201 


gression ; religion necessitates seclusion from society or 
lack of congeniality in it; and love can never exist 
without the close companionship of jealousy and dis- 
trust, — which conditions would certainly mar perfect 
happiness, it seems to me.” 

I will substantiate my statement by adding that 
no true happiness is to be found in society ; that the 
ambitious person is never contented ; the secluded, 
uncongenial person is not truly religious; and con- 
fidence stands as the chief sentinel in the heart where 
true love is. Few people, very few are truly happy; 
the multitude finding more fascination in the pur- 
suit of happiness than in its realization,” said the 
minister. 

am sorry to interrupt this most interesting of 
conversations for even a moment, but shall be obliged 
to excuse myself now, as I am to leave the city within 
an hour and must make due preparations,” said Frank, 
rising from the table* 

Can I be of any help to you ?” inquired Irene, as 
he was leaving the room. 

“ No, thank you ; continue the subject of your dis- 
cussion without me ; it is an excellent one and worth 
debating. I have only to arrange some papers.” 

All the while he was speaking June had been wiping 
her face and fingers on a napkin ; and when he had 
finished, she ran quietly away from the table across the 
room to his side, saying, — 

May I help you ?” He looked down on her up- 
turned face for a moment, then laughingly replied, — 

‘‘ Yes, you may help me, if you wish,” and they 
left the room together. 


202 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


See, now, she has taken your place,” laughed Dora, 
when the door had closed between them. 

Well, I do not object, do I?” answered Irene, a 
little peevishly, being vexed with her husband’s final 
remark to her. 

The conversation was not continued, and they all 
arose from the table shortly afterwards, Irene going to 
her own room and Dora and the minister to the parlor. 
Later in the evening, as Dora was going through the 
entry leading past Irene’s room to her own, June came 
bounding out of her sister’s room, running against her 
in her headlong course. She looked up quickly as in 
affright. 

“ Did you take me for a ghost ?” said Dora. 

^^No,” replied- June. “There aren’t any ghosts in 
this house, — Frank told me so. Irene said, once, that 
there were ghosts in there,” pointing with her finger 
towards the door of the room next Irene’s ; “ but there 
aren’t; it is only his room, where he sleeps; that’s all,” 
and she ran on her way. 

“ It is very strange,” murmured Dora to herself, as 
she pursued her way to her room, vainly attempting 
to solve a perplexing question to her entire satisfac- 
tion. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


203 


CHAPTER XIX. 

I WONDER how much this picture would bring ?” 
said Irene, half aloud, one morning, in the studio, as, 
with brush in one hand and palette in the other, she 
leaned back in her chair and scanned the canvas on the 
easel before her. The subject had been suggested by 
something she had seen in life, — A Feast,” she called 
it. It represented a young girl — with face copied from 
June’s; her feet and arms bare, sunburned, and dirty; 
her dress ragged and hair unkempt — seated on a bank 
of green at the edge of a wood, a dog of common breed 
near by. She had broken apart a loaf of bread, and 
while eagerly devouring one portion, was holding out 
the other to the dog, who was feeding on it from her 
hand; both seeming to enjoy with keen relish the 
homely repast. 

Would you sell it ?” inquired Dora. 

“ If I knew its worth and could find a purchaser.” 

Why not send it to the Academy in New York, 
and place it on exhibition there, and see what would be 
offered for it ?” 

I never once thought of doing that,” said Irene, 
much pleased with the suggestion; and, leaving the 
studio, she at once wrote a letter to the directors of 
the Academy, and soon after, through correspondence, 
completed all preliminary arrangements for entering the 
picture at an exhibition of paintings by American 
artists, and having it offered for sale. 


204 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


She did not communicate the plan, however, to her 
husband, feeling that he would not be pleased with 
it, and would offer some objection. She was worried in 
consequence, knowing that he ought to be told of it, 
though how to broach the subject to him she could not 
devise. She delayed telling him until the morning of 
the day the picture was to be shipped, when a man, 
whom she had engaged to box it up, came to the house 
for that purpose while the family were at breakfast. 

The carpenter has come, madame,” said Arsine. 

The carpenter?’^ queried Irene, not understanding 
who was meant. 

It is the man you engaged to box up the picture, I 
guess,’’ Dora ventured to explain. 

It was unfortunate that Frank should first learn of 
its existence in this way ; and Irene regretted with all 
her heart that she had not advised with him before- 
hand, as she answered, — 

Tell him to wait a few moments.” 

Are you going to send away any of your work, 
Irene?” inquired Frank, pleasantly. 

Yes; a picture I have just finished. I am going 
to send it to the Academy of Design in New York, 
and let the outside world pass judgment on its merit. 
Would you not like to see it before it goes on its 
way ?” 

‘‘ Yes, if you please,” he answered, calmly, though 
Irene could see that he was much disturbed. 

‘‘Well, come then, — you, too, Dora, and Mr. Bird, 
— and I will put it on exhibition in my studio,” she 
said, rising from the table; “but you must promise 
not to be severe in your criticism of it, lest, at the 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 205 

last moment, I waver from my purpose of sending it 
away/’ 

We will promise to be kind/’ answered the min- 
ister, — her husband making no reply whatever. Irene 
could see by the expression of his countenance, which 
he tried in vain to subdue, that he was not pleased, but 
appearing not to notice it, she led tlie way to the 
studio. It was the first time Frank had ever been 
there ; and he gave a hasty glance about the room before 
permitting his eyes to rest on the picture he had come 
to see. When he did look on it, he exclaimed, in 
surprise, — 

Why, it is June’s face !” 

Thank you. I am complimented that you so readily 
discern the likeness. Yes, June sat as a model for this,” 
answered Irene. 

I had no idea you could paint so well, Mrs. Ray- 
nor! Is it to be sold?” said the minister. 

A deep crimson suffused Irene’s countenance. She 
dared not look at her husband as she made reply in a 
low voice, If any one desires to purchase it,” and 
drew a curtain across the canvas, — ^a signal for her 
guests to depart. As they were passing down the stairs, 
Frank walked by Irene’s side, and said, in an under- 
tone, — 

'^If you have not enough money to supply your 
wants, I will furnish you with more ; you need not 
send your handiwork to market.” 

Thank you, I have sufficient already. It is but a 
fancy of mine, to ascertain if the work I am doing is 
worth anything, and, if so, how much. I did not think 
you would object.” 


18 


206 MISTAKEN PATHS. 

have not objected. Yet, I hope that you may 
be satisfied with this one experiment,” he replied. 
Dora overheard this conversation as she came down 
the stairs in front of them, and it worried her not a 
little. * 

“ It is certainly very odd that Irene should not have 
told him about the picture beforehand,” she said to 
herself. “ He does not wish her to send it away, — I 
am sure that he does not. Ought I, as a friend, to 
advise her to desist from her purpose? Ought I to tell 
her not to be indifferent to his wishes, and thus, per- 
haps, avert a future of unhappiness for both ?” For 
some moments this good friend pondered over the 
question without arriving at any decision ; finally allow- 
ing her thoughts to wander to a pair of blue eyes whose 
possessor sat opposite her, at the table, and looked so 
kindly across at her, to whom she was certain she 
w’ould confide every purpose and intent of her life, 
were he to her what Frank Raynor was to Irene. 

The picture was sent, and a letter was at the same 
time written by Irene to Mr. Wells, asking him to call 
at the Academy, if convenient, and fix a price on it. 
An answer came to this letter a short time after, and, 
as soon as Irene received it, she went up to the studio, 
where she might peruse it alone and undisturbed. It 
was late in the afternoon, and her husband was away 
from the city. He was absent a great part of the time, 
now, travelling about from place to place, with his sec- 
retary, in a special car. Sometimes he told her where 
he was going, sometimes he did not. She never made 
inquiry, however, for she knew he always told June, 
and June never forgot anything. She was surprised 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


207 


when she read in the letter that the artist had valued 
the picture at two hundred dollars, and was gratified at 
the manner in which he spoke of her talent. 

^^You are the only pupil I ever had,” he wrote, 
and you do me much credit. I invited some friends 
of mine with me, one day, to look on your picture, and 
discovered that it was already ticketed ‘ sold.’ I am 
proud to note your rapid progress ; only do not mis- 
understand me. The picture is good; but after all, 
only a beginning ; there is much room for inaprove- 
ment. You have taste and ability, and should work 
diligently for the achievement of what is within your 
reach. I seize this late opportunity of congratulating 
you on your marriage, and wish you much happiness 
and prosperity. Pray let me know if ever again I may 
serve you, as it will afford me pleasure to be of any 
assistance.” 

She read the letter with increasing enthusiasm, until 
she reached the clause where he made mention of her 
marriage. It set her to brooding over the past again ; 
to recalling those happy, never-to-be-forgotten days in 
that other studio,— by the sea, — where life had passed 
like a happy dream ; the kind, loving eyes that looked 
eacli day over her shoulder and never could see any 
fault in the picture on which she worked. Tears 
dropped from her lashes and rolled down over her 
cheeks on the letter she held before her. It grew dusk 
as she sat there by the window, crying thus quietly to 
herself, when the door opened, and Dora entered. 

Oh,” she exclaimed, on seeing her, I never ex- 
pected to find you here at this hour !” Irene made no 
reply. I left a book in here, to-day, that I wanted to 


208 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


readjust now, — ^you must excuse my intrusion on that 
account,’’ she continued. 

It is all right,” answered Irene, brokenly, the tears 
sounding in her voice. 

Why, what’s the matter, dear?” said Dora, com- 
ing over to her side at once. You are crying. Are you 
in trouble ? and may I not comfort you ?” She was 
down by Irene’s side on the floor, and had her arms 
about her in an instant. On receiving such unexpected 
sympathy, Irene, leaning her head on her friend’s 
shoulder, cried bitterly for a few moments before 
replying. 

There, I am better now. Don’t mind me, Dora ; I 
get to thinking seriously over my life sometimes, and 
as there has been more of shadow than sunshine in it, 
is it any wonder that I grow sad and low-spirited ?” 

No, dear ; only you must not think of the past ; 
think only of the present and the future, and all that 
they promise for you ; think of your husband, your 
home, your sister, and of how much happier you are 
than many, many who have to live all their lives 
without love, sympathy, comfort, and kindness in their 
homes; think ” 

“Stop,” interrupted Irene; “stop; don’t say any 
more. I do think — too much! Come, let us light the 
gas — I hate the darkness — and I will read to you a 
letter I have just received ; then we will go below and 
play and sing, and I will forget everything!” She 
jumped about excitedly, upsetting an easel, and stum- 
bling over chairs in her haste, lighting the gas with 
trembling fingers ; and finally seating herself to read 
aloud to her friend the artist’s letter. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


209 


“ And the picture is sold already ! How fortunate ! 
and who bought it, I wonder?’^ said Dora, when she 
had finished. 

They did hot know; how could they? It had 
been done so quietly, — that Frank Raynor, through 
an agent, had been the purchaser, and had ordered the 
picture to be sent, as soon as it could be removed, to 
his mother’s home in Boston. But Irene gained new 
courage, because the picture had sold so soon, spent 
more time thereafter in her studio, and worked more 
diligently than ever. 

You paint as if your life depended on the success 
of what you are engaged on, — and the skill you must 
display,” said Dora to her, one day, noting how 
carefully she applied the brush, and how completely 
engrossed she was in her occupation. 

It is my life ; or rather no other pursuit or pastime 
has pleasure or interest for me now, save this !” 

You surely enjoy your home and its duties?” 

No, frankly, I do not. I wish I could forget them, 
ofttimes; only I am never able to, — but what am I say- 
ing? I mean, of course, I am not domestic in my 
tastes. I care more for the world than home, do you 
understand ? I should much prefer passing all my days 
in society, to the seclusion of home-life without some 
agreeable occupation like this to take up my thoughts.” 
The studio door was ajar; and her husband, in passing 
outside, overheard what she was saying. He wanted to 
hear more, but could not demean himself by listening. 

,, Oh, Irene, I grieve to hear you speak thus ; be- 
cause I am sure your husband prefers the quiet of 
home,” said her friend. 


18 * 


210 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


“ Oh, no ; you are mistaken ; he, too, prefers society. 
You would scarcely think it, would you?’’ she answered. 

Dora did not reply. She was unable to understand 
Irene. The longer she lived in her home, and the more 
she saw of her, the less she seemed to know her. Yet, 
as she observed her friend’s husband she read plainly 
in his every look, word, and action that his married 
life was a disappointment, and that he was restless 
and unsatisfied. That he loved his wife, she never 
doubted; but she believed that Irene was neglecting 
him, thinking too much of art and not enough of home. 
Often she wanted to talk with her and warn her of the 
mistake she was making, only she had put it off from 
time to time, not knowing how to begin. 

Three years had passed since Frank and Irene were 
wedded. Three years, and they were no nearer together. 
Irene scarcely ever saw her husband alone. He was 
away much of the time, and when he was at home he 
seemed scarcely to notice her presence, so indifferent 
had he apparently grown towards her. At first he had 
been over considerate of her comfort and happiness, 
now he frowned oftener than he smiled, though always 
courteous and polite. At first she had been relieved at 
his increasing indifference, and was grateful when he 
left her to herself ; but after a time it troubled her ; 
and she was pained as she noticed that, when he was 
laughing and talking gayly with June, he would in- 
stantly grow sober at her approach, make some petty 
excuse for leaving her presence, or take up a book or 
paper and read. 

“ I believe he is growing to hate me,” she said to 
herself, one day, piqued by his demeanor. The thought 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


211 


worried her. She wondered if they would have been 
happier now had they begun differently ; had they tried 
to live for each other instead of the world ; had they 
kept by themselves instead of admitting outsiders into 
their household. 

Often, when feeling in such a mood, she would take 
J une by the hand and go down to her father’s home to 
talk with him until she should feel better. He lived a 
quiet life, much given to recalling his past in fancy. 
He had never been the same man after the loss of his 
wife; but, if left to himself, would often sit for hours 
with an old pipe between his lips, smoking and weep- 
ing and giving himself up entirely to thoughts of her. 

He loved to talk about her to any one, and most of 
all to his children. Tenderly he would speak of her 
efforts in their behalf, in her endeavor to secure their 
comfort, when they were too young to appreciate them. 
Over and over again he would recall the babyhood of 
Irene, telling how her mother had sat up one time night 
after night, working all the days beside, while nursing 
her through a dangerous illness. 

‘^You was always a sickly one,” he would say to 
Irene; “and many a night’s sleep she sacrificed for 
your sake.” And Irene would think that it would have 
been better for many others besides .herself, had her 
mother not been so watchful over her through that 
illness. Yet, though the scenes her father recalled 
were distressing and his conversation sad, she always 
returned home feeling better for having gone to see 
him, losing sight of her own sorrow somewhat in 
trying to comfort him. 


212 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


CHAPTEE XX. 

the first of the year we will move to Xew 
York,” sai<l Frank to Irene, one day, as they were 
alone together. 

What !” she exclaimed, in astonishment. He re- 
peated what he had said. 

What will you do there ?” she inquired, in a calmer 
tone. 

“ Live, I suppose, as I do now.” Irene winced at 
the sarcasm that pervaded his answer ; and he went on 
to say, — 

I overheard you, one day, telling Miss Clark how 
much you loved society ; and as there is very little that 
is pleasant in Newbridge, I thought in New York you 
would be happier.” 

Irene tried in vain to recall what else she had said 
that time before saying, — 

But what are you going to do there ? What business 
shall you be engaged in, I mean?” 

I have been corresponding with my father’s old 
friend, Mr. Blaisdell, the gentleman to whom I owe 
my present position, with a view of obtaining an office 
in the company of which he is president, and the result 
is even more favorable than I had dared to anticipate ; 
for, through his influence, I have been made one of 
the vice-presidents of the same company, and allowed 
a salary large enough to permit us to live very 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


213 


comfortably in New York. It is a piece of extraor- 
dinary good fortune; though he says he has been 
watching ray career here in Newbridge, and believes 
me capable of filling the office with credit, and that he 
promised my father, who was his dearest friend, to 
advance me as I deserved. I never knew of such 
enduring affection as is his for my father. Friendship 
usually dies out in forgetfulness after death, if it ever 
survives through life,’’ he added, thoughtfully. 

“ It is certainly very considerate of him to remember 
even a dead friend’s son so generously as he has you,” 
Irene replied. 

I think so too, for this position is one of influence 
and responsibility.” Irene was looking up at her 
husband admiringly as he spoke. Never before had 
he appeared so well in her eyes as now, and she was 
proud to have him so highly appreciated. Suddenly she 
went towards him, and putting both her arms about 
his neck, kissed him twice and thrice upon the lips, 
saying, as she did so, — 

Oh, Frank, I am so proud to know of this change 
in your prospects!” He blushed like a school-boy; and 
had not recovered from his surprise at this unlooked- 
for caress, when the door of the parlor opened, and the 
minister entered. Irene disengaged herself at once 
from his arms that were just entwining about her, 
and turning towards Mr. Bird, exclaimed, — 

Only listen to what Frank has been telling me I 
That we are to go to New York to live next month !” 

Going to New York? Why, how is that? Of 
course, I am not included in ^ we,’ am I ?” said the 
minister. 


214 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


Certainly not, — unless, of course, you wish to be. 
Tell him about it, Frank,’’ she said, turning towards 
her husband, who was standing as she had left him, 
the color gone from his face and his lips. One thought, 
one idea, was coursing through his mind ; that was, 
it is the city, society, and the world she cares for and 
rejoices over, not me, — not me.” And the hope, almost 
smothered from being suppressed so long, that had 
sprung into new life, as her lips touched his of their 
own accord, died down again as she turned from him, 
and his face grew pale and hard. At Irene’s request 
he, with an effort summoning back his customary calm- 
ness and reserve, related for his friend’s benefit the 
story of his advancement in business. 

You deserve your success, old friend. May God 
bless and prosper you always,” said the minister, 
grasping Frank’s hand heartily in his own. Irene, 
startled by the change she had discovered in her hus- 
band’s expression, quietly left the room while he was 
talking. 

It was the middle of December, and for many 
months had the little family beneath the roof of Frank 
Raynor’s home been coming together in daily converse 
and association ; and all the while two hearts had been 
closing against each other, while right by their sides, 
two hearts were opening up and warming towards each 
other. 

Are you surprised to know that the minister bright- 
ened up and grew to enjoy listening to the tones of a 
woman’s voice that brought good cheer with them to 
every one? Are you surprised that he recognized and 
appreciated the generous nature, the sympathetic heart, 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


215 


and the helping hand of one whom he saw daily, whose 
soul shining forth through her eyes was beautiful, 
though her face was plain ? On the evening of the 
same day that Frank had told him of the future 
change he was about to make in his plans, when he 
found Dora and himself alone together in the parlor, 
he told her how their home with Frank and Irene was 
about to be broken up, and seeing her face sadden at 
the news, besought her to join him in making a home 
for themselves, for the rest of their lives; and this kind, 
loving woman, just fitted to become a minister’s wife, 
joyfully gave her consent. 

Without delay they confided their newly-found 
happiness to the friends under whose roof they had 
been led to foster their affection for each other, and as 
Frank and Irene congratulated them, and wished them 
joy in the future, they realized more than ever before 
what a complete failure their own life together had 
been, and what a wide breach was forming between 
them. 

Much of the time that preceded her departure was 
spent by Irene in her father’s company. She ex- 
perienced much difficulty in persuading him to part 
with June, but Frank could not bear the thought of 
being deprived of the child’s society, and urged that 
she be taken with them. So Irene argued with him 
that June needed a woman’s watchful care, until she 
gained his consent to her going. When the final part- 
ing came, however, his distress was pitiful to behold, 
and great tears rolled down his cheeks, as reluctantly 
he let go the child’s hand. 

You are young yet, and it’s all for your happiness ; 


216 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


and 1^11 — I’ll get used to not seeing you about, I sup- 
pose, though it goes hard to part with you,” he said, 
sorrowfully. 

A quiet wedding ceremony had been performed in 
their home just a week before Frank and Irene bade 
adieu to it, when the minister took to himself for wife 
our good friend Dora Clark ; and it was planned that 
they should continue to live in Frank’s house just as 
it was for a time. They went to the train to see their 
friends off on their journey. 

It seems like separating a family,” said Dora, sadly. 

You will be happier by yourselves, though,” Irene 
answered. Apparently not heeding what she was say- 
ing, Dora continued, — 

We will always remember that we owe our present 
happiness to you both ; for in bringing us so constantly 
together, you led us to love each other. We will think 
kindly of you always, and miss you very much ; so 
you must return to us often as brother and sister, for 
you seem to be so related to us.” 

Irene kissed her father tenderly many times before 
entering the car, deeply grieved at thought of leaving 
him. Through the car-window she could see his 
tottering form go down the street alone under the 
gas-light. At every step he turned and looked back, 
wiping his eyes on his handkerchief. Tears of real 
anguish flowed from her own eyes in sympathy for 
him as she realized how lonely and desolate his home 
would now be. 

It was the last time she ever saw him. 

The journey was a tedious one to her. ; and she was 
glad when it was ended. Glad, also, to be in New 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


217 


York, wKere there would no longer be any necessity 
for keeping up an outward show of domestic happiness 
for the sake of misleading her friends, for the people 
whom they were likely to meet with now would never 
notice or care whether they were happy or not. 

They engaged a pleasant suite of rooms in a hotel ; 
and, the morning after their arrival, Frank left her 
and June there, while he went to meet Mr. Blais- 
dell, suggesting that she write a note to her aunt and 
invite her to call on her. Irene did as he advised, sent 
the note by messenger, and then sat by June’s side at 
the window, and looked out ou Broadway, watching 
the crowds of people that were thronging that busy 
thoroughfare. She never heeded June’s many exclama- 
tions and questions; being engrossed with remem- 
brances of the past, which her presence in the city 
revived. She wondered what she would do on meeting 
her cousin again, for encounter him sooner or later she 
knew she must. 

These thoughts were interrupted by her aunt’s ar- 
rival. She came in with a great flourish, and almost 
smothered Irene with her many caresses, all the time 
talking as rapidly as she could articulate. She had 
laid aside all symbols of mourning and now seemed 
gayer than ever before, looking almost as young as her 
niece. 

It is lovely to think that you are to live in New 
York,” she said, after exchanging greetings with both 
Irene and June. But why did you not tell me of 
your coming beforehand ? I should have met you at the 
train and insisted on taking you home with me, instead 
of permitting you to stop at a hotel. And to think Mr. 

K 19 


218 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


Kaynor should receive such a brilliant appointment, 
living away out there in seclusion as he did in New- 
bridge ! I knew all the while that he was a capable 
man and bound to rise, or I never would have encour- 
aged your marrying him, my dear. And you have 
grown more beautiful than ever ; you will surely create 
a furor in society, if you manage rightly. I will 
introduce you at my house some time this month ; but 
let me whisper a secret to you before I forget it. I am 
to be married in the fall to Mr. Gubenhauser, — he is 
abroad npw, — a German ! Ah, yes, you can tell that 
by the name, of course. I hesitated quite a while 
before accepting him on account of the name. A 
widower, too, without encumbrances, having no end 
of money; and he just dotes on me. Love him? 
The idea of my falling in love with any one at my age ! 
Oh, dear, no; but he is nice-looking, of respectable 
family, and very rich. What more could I desire? 
I have always had a perfect horror of being poor, you 
know ; have been obliged to give up two servants 
already ; though it’s perfectly wonderful what success 
Kobert has been meeting with ; he is just as busy, and 
makes as much money as many of the first and oldest 
lawyers in the city ; and, I must confess, he has been 
very generous and kind to me. But, dear me, if he 
marries, his wife would change all that; so I thought 
it was safe to secure a rich husband while I might.” 

Is he about to marry?” Irene inquired. 

Who, — Robert? Well, I can’t tell. I’ve been ex- 
pecting him to marry for the past three years, yet he 
doesn’t ; and yet he may bring a wife home any day. 
One never knows what to expect from these young 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 219 

men; they marry at a moment’s notice, often, — you 
remember how it was with your husband, my dear.” 

Irene did not make any reply, but turned her face 
away from her aunt. 

Do you realize how remarkable it is that your 
husband should be appointed to the place he has come 
hither to fill ?” 

^‘No; it is not remarkable. He deserves it, and 
is capable of fulfilling all its requirements,” Irene re- 
plied. 

Yes; I don’t doubt that, of course ; but yet we do 
not always get what we deserve in this world. You 
must see the papers containing the announcement; 
quite a little bit of family history dished up for reading 
at the same time, too.” 

What do you mean ?” inquired Irene, anxiously. 

^^Oh, his family history, — not yours, of course, — 
about his father, you know ! He used to be a great 
railroad magnate in his time; but he failed, and lost 
everything, poor man ! I have saved the papers, and 
you can read for yourself. But put on your wraps, 
now, both of you, and come out for a short ride with 
me. My sleigh is at the door, and the roads are in 
excellent condition. Afterwards, you can stop at my 
liouse and take luncheon with me. Yes, you must 
lunch with me, both of you; I will take no ex- 
cuses, for I shall be all alone otherwise. Robert does 
not come home during the day ; indeed, of late, he 
rarely comes to his meals at all. How June has grown ! 
You will send her away to school, of course, when you 
are settled. It is such a nuisance to have a child around 
when you are giving attention to society, — and every- 


220 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


thing favors your becoming a great belle, if you but 
give proper attention to society. Are you ready ? 
Dear me, I have been here an hour ! Who would have 
believed it !’' And she bustled out of the room, talk- 
ing lightly and gayly all the while. 

They took a short drive about, and returned to Mrs. 
Bostwick’s home in time for luncheon. Scarcely had 
they taken their places at the table, however, when 
Robert entered the room. He had come home unex- 
pectedly at that hour for the purpose of packing a 
small valise, and to tell his mother that he was obliged 
to leave the city for a short time in the interests of 
some business he was attending to. 

He paused at the threshold, turning white and red 
as he saw Irene; then, advancing towards her, ex- 
tended his hand in friendly greeting. Both hands 
trembled perceptibly as they touched; he turned towards 
June, who was presented to him, eagerly talking with 
her until he had regained his self-possession. When 
the meal was over, tliey went into the parlor, when 
Mrs. Bostwick excused herself to get the papers she 
had promised to show Irene. June went over to the 
window to look out in the street, and Robert approached 
where Irene was seated on a sofa and sat down by her 
side, saying, — 

‘'Irene, I want to beg your forgiveness — now, at 
this late day — for my cruelty the last time we were to- 
gether. I would have written to you and besought it 
ere this, but was not able to address you in the name 
of another. I ask you now to pardon me, on account 
of what I have suffered in the years since.” 

She attempted to answer him, but seemed to have 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


221 


lost all power to speak. Arising, she turned her face 
away that he might not observe her figitation. 

He caught her hand, and held it tightly in his own to 
prevent her from leaving him. 

Irene, Irene, do not turn from me, — do not de- 
spise but forgive me, for the sake of the love that I 
bear you 

Robert,” she answered, haughtily, as she snatched 
her hand from his, ^^you are forgetting yourself.” A 
half-stifled moan escaped him. She heard it, and 
immediately reproaching herself for her severity, 
said, — 

You are not the only one who has suffered ! Be 
considerate. Do not add more bitterness to my life. 
I forgive, — ^yes ; only, if you ever cared for me, do not 
again refer to the past.” She left him, and went over 
to where June was standing by the window. When 
her aunt came back and she turned to meet her, he was 
no longer there. 

On returning to the hotel that afternoon she found 
her husband waiting for her in their private parlor. He 
looked so handsome, and smiled in welcome of her so 
trustfully, that she felt a tinge of self-reproach for 
having listened to her cousin, and for having spoken 
to him as she did. But the words could not now be 
recalled. In a moment of weakness she had forgotten 
the requirements of her position, and been ruled en- 
tirely by the dictates of her feelings. 

We were with Aunt Mollie,” she said, quickly, in 
explanation of her absence. 

I hope you passed the time pleasantly with her,” 
he said. 


19 * 


222 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


“Yes. We went to drive, and took luncheon with 
her afterwards.’’ 

“ Do you know Aunt Mollie and Robert ?” inquired 
June. 

“I know Aunt Mollie? — yes; but Robert? — no.” 
He looked towards Irene, inquiringly. 

June went on to say, “He is our cousin, you know?” 

“ Oh, to be sure. I had forgotten all about him. 
Irene has never spoken of him in my presence.” 

“ No,” Irene answered quietly, wondering whether he 
had expected her to talk of her cousin, knowing, as 
he did; of her love for him. She succeeded in chang- 
ing the conversation by referring to her aunt’s pros- 
pective marriage; and from that subject they drifted 
into a discussion of their plans for the future. 

They had been in New York but a few days, when 
they moved from the hotel into a pleasant apartment 
in, the vicinity of Mrs. Bostwick’s home, after having 
furnished and fitted it up in artistic and elegant man- 
ner. Soon after they were established in their new 
abode they made their first appearance in society, at a 
reception given by Mrs. Bostwick. 

Irene attracted much attention on that occasion by 
her simple grace and beauty. She wore a becoming 
evening costume of cream-white plush, with her neck, 
arms, and shoulders bare, looking as if chiselled from 
marble, in their whiteness and perfectness. She wore 
no jewelry or ornaments save the string of pearls about 
her neck ; and at her corsage a cluster of delicate pink 
roses, the only vestige of color about her. 

“ Who is she ?” was the inquiry of one who had not 
met her. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


223 


“ She is Mrs. Bostwick’s niece. Three seasons ago 
she attracteil much notice at Long Branch,” was the 
answer. 

But she seems very young !” 

Oh, she is young. This is her husband standing 
close to my right — Mr. Baynor. He is the newly- 

appointed vice-president of the railroad company. 

You have doubtless read of him in the papers. His 
father was at one time oflScially connected with the same 
company. A fine-looking man, is he not?” 

Yes ; but he seems much older than she.” 

She was married the same season she was at Long 
Branch. I remember, we all thought she would capture 
the Count Beaurynski, — he was so devoted in his at- 
tentions to her.” 

Frank, who had overheard the last remark, moved 
away, unwilling to listen further, and went over to 
where Irene — leaning on her cousin’s arm — was con- 
versing with Mr. Wells. He was not aware that it 
was the artist until he approached ; and Irene, looking 
up in his face in a fascinating manner, placed her hand 
on his arm, and, turning towards him, said, — 

Mr. Wells, allow me to present to you my husband. 
He has heard me speak of you quite frequently, and 
knows how greatly I am indebted to you.” Somehow 
his heart beat quicker as she spoke thus; and he 
grasped the hand of the artist more fervently than 
ever before he had taken the hand of a stranger, though 
he scarcely heard a word that he was saying, or realized 
what he himself was replying ; his wife’s manner, the 
touch of her hand on his arm, and the sound of her 
sweet voice saying my husband” having quite over- 


224 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


come him for the time, so new and so endearing was 
the experience. 

Irene had been dreading all evening lest her cousin, 
to whose charge she had been confided by her aunt 
immediately after her arrival, should make some refer- 
ence to the past in his talk with her ; but he never 
broached the subject in any way, speaking only the 
current small talk of the day. She could not overcome 
the fear that he might, however ; and, therefore, with 
joy, noted her husband’s approach, knowing that she 
could be free from such dread in his company, and 
while under his protecting presence; moreover, she 
had grown proud of hearing his name mentioned so 
frequently and with such apparent esteem, by many of 
those assembled, and welcomed the opportunity for pre- 
senting him to her friend, the artist. 

I hope you have enjoyed yourself this evening,” 
Frank said, while assisting her to remove her wraps as 
they stood in tlieir own parlor on their return home. 
He had been very proud of her, and the remembrance 
of her smile, gesture, and the words ^ my husband,’ 
were yet thrilling him, and he was anxious to afford 
her the opportunity for saying more while the mood 
was with her. Her reply came, after a moment’s 
pause, during which her face grew very serious. 

‘‘No; I cannot say that I have;” and taking up her 
wraps, she added a chilling “ good-night” at the door- 
way, and left him. That was all. He might have 
mistaken the meaning of her words, but he could not 
misunderstand her manner ; and as he stood where she 
left him, he recalled how many times he had heard 
her name and the Count Beaurynski’s spoken together 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


225 


that evening, and fell to brooding over his unhappi- 
ness. 

Was he condemned to live always thus, unloved by 
his wife, until death should put an end to such life? 
If her love was as enduring as his own, there was no 
other hope for him. It was a terrible future to look 
forward to ; and he nervously paced the floor until day 
was breaking. 

Irene heard him as he retired to his room, just 
before dawn, and guessed what he was suffering. 

^^He is troubled because of my cousin,” she said. 
^^Ah me, what will he do? and how shall I ever be 
able to live peaceably here in the city, encountering 
him so often as I must !” 


CHAPTEE XXL 

The Count Beaurynski was again in New York, 
though Irene was not aware of his presence until she 
met him unexpectedly one evening at a reception given 
by Mrs. Bolingbroke, at which her husband and her- 
self were in attendance. Had she known that he was 
to be one of the guests she would have sought to avoid 
him, but she did not know. They had gone to Mrs. 
Bolingbroke^s — her husband and herself — in company 
with her aunt and cousin, and immediately upon enter- 
ing the crowded drawing-room Frank had tendered 
his arm to her aunt, resigning her to her cousin’s 
charge. She was annoyed by this action of his, and 


226 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


1 ike wise, puzzled ; yet, as there was no escape, she took 
her cousin’s arm, and sought to fortify her position by 
meeting all his advances with a quiet appearance of 
indifference and an unmistakable show of annoyance ; 
for on several like occasions before, when she had been 
thus thrust into his company, he had attempted to play 
on her feelings and to advance himself in her affections, 
and in consequence she had come to look on him with 
increasing distrust. 

This evening, while they were together, he was about 
to lead her info the conservatory, which was vacated 
by every one else at the time, when she stopped sud- 
denly at the entrance, saying, — 

“ Let us turn back.” 

No ; let us go in here a moment. I have some- 
thing I must say to you that I do not wish others to 
liear.” His whole frame trembled. She almost knew 
what he wanted to say, and answered him with poorly- 
repressed excitement, — 

But you must not say anything to me that the 
whole world may not hear. Do you not see my lius- 
band standing there looking towards us? He knows I 
— I loved — you — onCe, and yet he trusts me implicitly 
in your company. What would he 4iiink if he knew 
I would listen to what you are now wanting to say?” 

‘‘Irene, you are excited. You do not understand. 
I meant no wrong. But how does he know of the 
feeling you have for me? Surely you have not told 
him ?” he inquired, nervously. 

He is a coward, she thought, as she answered him, — 
“You talk with much assurance when you speak of 
the feeling I ‘ have for you,’ and do me a great wrong 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


227 


and injustice thereby. Look she said, pointing with 
her fan in the direction where her husband was. There 
stands my husband, whom I respect, honor, and esteem 
more than any man I know. Take me to him at once.’' 

He would have detained her and made excuses, but 
she pressed him forward, and would not permit him. 

“ Forgive me, Irene, and have mercy on me. Your 
treatment of me of late has been most inconsiderate 
and cruel,” he said, in a low voice, as they proceeded. 
She never seemed to hear what he was saying, but 
pushed on his arm all the while, as if to bring him 
more quickly forward. 

Her husband was watching her approach. When 
within a few paces of him her progress was impeded 
by her hostess, who approached them leaning on the 
arm of a gentleman, and said, — 

Ah ! Mrs. Raynor, will you not stop long enough 
to recognize an old admirer of yours?” Irene paused 
and looked for the first time towards Mrs. Boling- 
broke’s companion. It was the Count Beaurynski. 
In an instant the flush that had mantled her cheeks 
left them; and without extending her hand or speaking 
a word to him, she bowed low in* recognition, and ex- 
plaining that sli^ was ill, by way of excuse to her 
hostess, pressed eagerly forward to her husband’s side. 

I am not well; let us go home,” she said, clinging 
to his arm with the look of a hunted fawn. He had 
been watching her as she had come towards him, 
had noted her agitation on meeting her hostess and 
escort ; and having learned that the Count Beaurynski 
was present, he inquired, without seeming to heed what 
she had just said to him, — 


228 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


Who was the gentleman with Mrs. Bolingbroke ?” 
feeling certain what her answer would be, yet almost 
losing command of himself when she replied, in a low 
voice, — 

“ The Count Beaurynski.” 

I knew it!’’ he exclaimed beneath his breath, as he 
left the room with her, turning at the door- way to catch 
a glimpse of the man’s face whom he believed to have 
wrecked his happiness. With indignation he observed 
the Count’s eyes intently following his wife, an ex- 
pression in them full of hidden meaning, and entirely 
unintelligible to him. 

Irene, hereafter try to remember that you are my 
wife, and conceal your feelings in public, at least, if 
you are not able to rid yourself of them entirely,” he 
said, in a severe tone, as he left her that night at the 
door of her room. She was amazed at his tone and 
manner as much as at his words, it being the first time 
in their married life that he had spoken other than 
kindly to her. Evidently, he had been noting the ex- 
pression of her face while she talked with her cousin, 
and had mistaken her agitation on meeting the Count 
for the effect of her conference with him. Often he 
had told her that he could read in her face what was 
passing in her mind. That might be possible for him 
if she were near ; but she had been too far away for 
him to read aright, and he had evidently misunderstood 
her. And why should he censure where he himself 
was to blame, throwing her constantly in her cousin’s 
society as he did, disregarding the fact that the tempta- 
tion to say much that was better left unspoken would 
surely present itself to them ? What did he hope to 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


229 


gain by this course ? He would never seek to secure 
an end to his unhappy domestic experience by bringing 
dishonor in his home; so it must be that he sought 
only to show her that his confidence in her was un- 
bounded, and he was now vexed because he believed 
that confidence had been betrayed. How could he 
think so poorly of her ! She felt an increasing con- 
tempt for her cousin whenever she thought of him. 

The passion that had so long held full sway in her 
heart was being gradually dethroned by his persistent 
attentions to her, and the cowardly presumption and 
calm assurance he displayed in her presence; and the 
seed sown, from time to time, in quiet acts of tender 
thoughtfulness and regard that had honor, love, and 
respect to nourish them, though retarded in their de- 
velopment by the blind conquering sway of that false 
passion, were springing up into an enduring sentiment, 
which though not yet recognized by her was surely 
driving all consideration for her cousin headlong into 
obscurity. 

Poor Irene, she was young yet, unused to the diplo- 
macy of the world and society, and, above all, not able 
to understand and interpret her own heart aright. 

She cried herself to sleep that night, and wakened in 
the morning determined not to permit herself there- 
after to be thrust so continually into her cousin’s com- 
pany ; and when she could not avoid him, to show to 
her husband that she was able to meet him without tlie 
slightest betrayal of emotion or regret. They had ac- 
cepted an invitation to a theatre party for the evening 
following the reception ; but late in the afternoon Frank 
came home complaining of a severe headache. 

20 


230 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


How unfortunate said Irene, regretfully. You 
will not be able to attend the play, then, this even- 
ing.” 

No, I think not ; but you can go in company with 
your aunt and cousin without me.” Irene’s lips 
quivered perceptibly as she answered, — 

If my husband is ill, my place is by his side.” 

Ah, yes, to be sure ; but one is not counted ill with 
a headache. You could say, and they would understand, 
that I prefer to be alone.” He laughed sarcastically. 

“But I do not care to go to-night,” she replied, 
stung by his manner. 

“ Oh, then, that is another matter ; suit your own 
pleasure always, Irene.” He seemed not like himself,, 
and annoyed at the tone he used, she answered with 
spirit, — 

“It is because I do not wish to go without your 
company.” 

“ Oh, that is it ? Then you would like to go ? 
Well, leave me by myself awhile ; perhaps by the time 
we will need to start I may feel better and able to 
accompany you.” 

“ No, no,” she answered, vehemently ; “ I will not 
go to-night ; do you understand me ? I will send a note 
of regret and explanation at once.” 

“ As you please,” he answered, quietly, and she left 
the room. 

He had read in the society notes of the morning 
paper that the Count Beaurynski was to be one of 
the party, and had determined to remain at home 
rather than meet him. He had a slight headache, not 
severe enough, however, to have kept him away, other- 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


231 


wise. But he felt an aversion for this foreigner which 
he could scarcely account for. 

He would have hesitated to acknowledge that it was 
because the Count was loved by his wife, yet he felt 
certain that, were he thrown too closely in his company, 
he would offer some insult to him, so preferred to 
avoid him. 

Can I do anything to bring you relief?” inquired 
Irene, returning a few moments later to him. 

No, thank you ; I want only to be alone and quiet,” 
he answered, shortly ; so she left him again. 

He wanted to be alone and quiet,” yet he called 
June into the room after she had gone, and was 
laughing and talking merrily with her a few minutes 
later. 

Irene was sorely troubled, thinking he found so 
little pleasure in her society, that he resorted to 
strategy to relieve himself of it. Once he had loved 
her ; once he had told her he could never outgrow his 
affection, and yet in three short years, and little more, 
— just at a time when she was beginning to appreciate 
him and to find comfort in his companionship, — he had 
evidently wearied of her, and grown .to dislike her. 


232 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


CHAPTER XXIL 

Mr. Blaisdell, who had been in poor health for 
many months prior to Frank’s coming to New York, 
gradually declined after he came, being finally confined 
to his house entirely. Frank visited him frequently, 
anxious to serve him if it might be in his power. He 
conferred with him on business, or read to him, or 
talked with him cheerily, eager to relieve the monotony 
of his illness. Mr. Blaisdell, in consequence, became 
very warmly attached to him; and when the summer 
was opening, and his physician advised him to seek 
the sea-breezes, he invited Frank to bring his wife and 
her sister, and spend the season with him at Long 
Branch, where he owned a cottage. Frank hesitated 
at first, but, being very strongly urged, and finding 
Irene well pleased with the plan, he finally accepted 
the invitation. 

Mr. Blaisdell was quite old, very wealthy, and a 
bachelor, and was accustomed to spending his summers 
quietly at this home by the seaside, with only the 
companionship of his sister, a maiden lady older than 
himself. She went there with him this season, though 
also an invalid, not able to go about. 

On account of this she was no companion for Irene; 
so, as Frank went each morning into the city, return- 
ing late in the afternoon, Irene sought Mr. BlaisdelFs 
society much of the time, and tried to show her appre- 
ciation of his kindness to her husband by reading aloud 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


233 


to him as he lay in a reclining-chair by the window of 
his room, which looked out on the sea, thereby en- 
deavoring to make the hours pass pleasantly for him. 

What was begun thus as a duty came afterwards to 
be a pleasure to her ; and the old man found so much 
comfort in her society that he sought to keep her near 
him when she would become weary of reading, by re- 
lating to her many of his early experiences. Irene 
enjoyed those talks of his, and recalled them many 
times later in life with much keener appreciation than 
at the time. June was often with him too; for he 
seemed to delight also in the child’s company, saying 
that her merry face was as invigorating to him as 
summer sunshine. 

Enjoy the spring-time of your life, my child,” he 
said once to her ; ^4t is the happiest season of your ex- 
istence, when life seems full of brightness and the air 
full of music for you, and care and pain, when they 
approach, touch you so lightly that you shed a few 
tears and thereby wash away all remembrance of their 
stings. Run out and play there on the sand now, for 
you need tlie air to keep you merry, and I will watch 
you from the window here, and renew my youth again 
in enjoying the sight of your bright face there.” Then, 
as June ran gayly laughing away, he looked after her 
with sparkling eyes, and, turning to Ireqe, continued, 
“ She is so happy always, while you seem often sad. 
You should not be so, with life before you and such a 
noble man for a husband. You have much to delight 
in. Why do you so rarely smile? I have noticed 
you at times when you were pleased. A smile sits 
well on your features and adds new charm to your 
20 * 


234 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


beauty ; besides, you are too youug yet to burden your- 
self with cares. How old are you 

“ I will be twenty next August. I do not mean to 
appear serious, having nothing to make me so.” 

Did the old man suspect a falsehood, or was it only 
by accident that he said, — 

^^Look out there at June now; she has made friends 
with those strange children already, and they are as 
happy together as if they had known each other all 
their lives. When she is older — but a few years older 
— ^she will stand aloof and look critically and sus- 
piciously over each article of dress that the young girls 
whom she meets will wear, and note their movements, 
conversation, and manners, and what others have to 
say of them, for days and weeks before she will make 
friends of them. It is always the way : we grow dis- 
trustful as we grow older. Why is it, I wonder? It 
may be because, with the curiosity and inquisitiveness 
of childhood, we easily discover the deceit practised by 
those older than ourselves, and in much the same way 
as a man buckles on his sword in going to a contest of 
swords, so we, when we grow old enough to engage in 
the diplomacy and deceit of business or society, put on 
the same armor and use the same weapons we are 
certain to encounter there. It is different with children : 
they never know distrust until they have become ac- 
quainted with deceit, — the two go hand in hand, — so 
they make friends readily. Their quarrels are soon 
ended and forgotten. But as they grow older their 
ideas and friends change, and they are continu^y 
dropping off old ones and taking up new. I look on 
it as a kind of fruitless search after constancy and 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


235 


sincerity. Where now are the friends of my childhood? 
Gone, — forgotten. Rarely we cling to them through 
life. One, one only, did I retain. That one was your 
husband’s father.” 

He paused to brush off a tear from his cheek ; he 
was very weak, and the recollection of former days 
affected him. 

‘^You knew his father well?” inquired Irene, 
eagerly. 

“Ah, yes; we were boys together and grew up 
almost under the same roof, I might say, we were so 
much in each other’s company. He was a grand man ; 
every one esteemed him ; upright and honorable he was 
to the last ; but he lacked that penetration necessary to 
the man of the world in dealing with its serpents. He 
thought all men were honest like himself. He grew 
rich, but, being ambitious to increase his possessions 
for the sake of his son, at the suggestion of an ac- 
quaintance he undertook to speculate in mines, and 
acting on the advice of this acquaintance lost every- 
thing. It was all done so quickly, and as his chief 
adviser who had been on the verge of bankruptcy 
grew rich at the same time that he grew poor, I have 
never been able to believe but that a plan had been 
arranged beforehand whereby to profit by his confidence. 
I never could make him think it, however. ^ I made 
a mistake. I should have known better,’ he said, when 
everything had been sacrificed ; ^ but I thought I could 
make something out of it and do more for Frank. Now, 
poor boy, he has nothing to begin on. If you can do 
aught for him, do it for the sake of old acquaintance.’ 
Those were his last words to Ah me, what a 


236 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


treacherous world it is ! Will you please roll my chair 
away from the window ? I will try to doze a little 
now, for I am tired and so are you, I fear, with my 
much talking. You can send my man here to me while 
you run out on the beach with June : it will do you 
good.” 

She rolled his chair away as he requested, and, when 
she had arranged the pillows under his head so that he 
should be more comfortable, she said, — 

May I ask one question before I go ?” 
dozen, if you wish.” 

^'How could Frank’s father be imposed upon so 
easily ? He was a shrewd business man, was he not ?” 

Ah, you doubt the subtlety of those who led him 
on? You know already the man to whom he owed 
his failure was your uncle, Robert Bostwick? Yes, 
child, Frank’s father was a shrewd business man in 
his own way. He knew all about railroads and their 
management, but nothing of mines; and invested a 
portion of what he had from time to time until, grow- 
ing desperate, he finally risked all, hoping to save 
what had already been invested. I think their con- 
stant talking and his thinking over the subject turned 
his head towards the last, or he never would have ven- 
tured so far. Your uncle was not alone in the enter- 
prise, but had a partner, who did most of the talking 
and was as tricky as himself. Robert Bostwick, Jr., 
inherits some of his father’s subtleness, I think, for, as 
I have noted his career from time to time, I have come 
to think he is not always honest in his dealings. Per- 
haps I may be prejudiced, however, and hence mis- 
taken.” 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


237 


Thank you. I will leave you now if you are 
comfortable/^ Irene said, and went out on the beach to 
where her sister was playing. 

^^Come, June,’^ she said, after she had watched her 
idly for a time, let us go into the house and write a 
letter to papa ; we have not written to him for almost 
two weeks ; he is lonesome no doubt without us, and we 
must not forget or neglect him because we are happy.” 

June readily assented, and when she was comfortably 
ensconced by Irene’s side, with pencd in hand, she 
looked up into her face and saw tears glistening in her 
eyes. 

You are crying ; are you happy for sure ?” 

Yes, dear, only a little tired.” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Mbs. Bostwick was not long in following her niece 
to Long Branch, where she stopped at one of the ho- 
tels with her son. The Count Beaurynski came also, 
not with them, yet stopping at the same hotel where 
they were quartered. Irene encountered all three wher- 
ever she went, it seemed to her. She always recognized 
the Count whenever she could not avoid meeting him, 
because her aunt advised her to do so lest the world 
of society, the same that knew she was once friendly 
with and much admired by him, should notice that she 
slighted him now, and, not able to divine the cause, 
invent one of its own. 


238 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


The women are jealous of you already, my dear, — 
so frightfully jealous, — because you are young and 
beautiful, and because every one admires and praises 
you always. They will be glad to find some occasion, 
though ever so slight, for gossip about you. Of course, 
it will not be pleasant for you to speak to him, never- 
theless it will be policy.’^ So had her aunt argued; 
and Irene bowed coldly to him, thereafter, when- 
ever they met, and he never intruded himself upon 
her in any way. 

Her cousin, however, in spite of her constant show 
of annoyance and indifference, beset her with his at- 
tentions at every turn. In seeking to avoid him, 
she spent much of her time in the cottage with Mr. 
Blaisdell, or on the beach back of the house with J une. 
She painted diligently, at times, on a picture she had 
begun in Newbridge. 

“ The Trysting Place” was the subject ; and it rep- 
resented a handsome woman, in riding habit, leaning 
against a huge tree by a lonely roadside, one hand 
catching at the skirt of her dress, and holding it up far 
enough to display a delicate foot, well booted. In the 
other hand was a riding-whip with which she appeared 
to be impatiently striking the grass at her feet. An 
expression of vexation rested on her face, and a dog 
crouched on the ground in front of her, — a little black- 
and-tan, — looking up at her as if questioning the cause 
of her annoyance. The picture was a study full of 
delicate meaning. 

She intended to take it to Mr. Wells’s studio, in the 
city, when it was finished, and ask him to estimate its 
value, afterwards to offer it for sale. She was keeping 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


239 


both plan and picture a secret from her husband, 
knowing that he would assuredly object to her project. 
When, at last, it was completed satisfactorily to herself, 
she wrapped it up carefully, and hid it away, awaiting 
a favorable opportunity for taking it to the city. 

The life of dependence on her husband, who seemed 
daily to grow more indifferent to her, made her feel as 
if she were a dead weight, that he desired, but was 
not able, to release himself from. He rarely accom- 
panied her to any of the many entertainments to which 
they were constantly being invited while at Long 
Branch, but was continually insisting that she should 
go in company with her aunt and cousin without him. 
He urged her to go, even against her own desire ; for 
he had noticed, long before Mr. Blaisdell had directed 
his attention to the fact, that the color was leaving her 
cheek, and a smile was rarely ever to be seen on her 
countenance, and these traces of declining health and 
spirits worried him. 

Go out and enjoy the air and society all you can,” 
he had once said to her. You must not mind my re- 
maining at the side of my friend. If I can help to 
make his life brighter and happier, it is my duty, in 
return for what he has done for me.” 

But I would rather stay with you,” she had an- 
swered. I could be of some assistance too, I am 
sure.” 

^‘No, no; you certainly could not, I assure you. 
Go with your aunt; you are too much in the house. 
You need the air, the society, the pleasures of life, to 
keep you healthful and handsome.” And she went 
without further argument, feeling that he wanted 


240 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


to be freed of her presence, and thinking that he 
dreaded a time when she would lose her only remain- 
ing charm for him, — her beauty. And plunging into 
society with vehemence, she sought to find pleasure 
there ; and danced and laughed and chatted, the gay- 
est of the gay, with her many admirers and friends, 
trying to be happy, without ever succeeding. 

Mrs. Bostwick delighted in Irene’s companionship 
because she attracted so much attention. She was the 
belle of the season. The women all envied her, and 
the men raved over her beauty. Words of praise and 
flattery greeted her on all sides, and by listening to 
them she tried to stifle her heart’s longings. But such 
light \yords compared with the language of an honest, 
loving heart are as the chaff to the grain. She would 
have been made more proud to have heard her husband 
say, just once, that he still loved her. He never did, 
however. She put bunches of flowers at his plate each 
day, which he did not seem to notice. She addressed 
him with tender words, seeking some caress from him 
in return ; but he would only stare at her in astonish- 
ment, as if he did not want to understand, and give no 
sign of encouragement. 

It is too late,” she thought. He has ceased to 
care for me.” And she grieved over his increasing 
coldness towards her. 

Finally she determined to go to him and make a 
confession of her love for him in words as a last test. 
It was one evening after an afternoon of triumph over 
her cousin. That afternoon she had restrained herself, 
and listened patiently and calmly to him out on the 
beach, while he poured out the story of his love and 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


241 


devotion in her ears, and besought her to leave hus- 
band and home and go away with him. She had been 
much incensed, yet had laughed at him when he had 
finished, thinking it a surer way to censure him for 
his weakness, cure him of his passion, and relieve her- 
self in future from his distasteful attentions. She had 
laughed at him and answered, mockingly, — 

“You amuse me; indeed you do. And did you 
really think I cared for you 

“ You did once/^ he answered, doggedly. 

“Ay, once, but that was in the past. And 

now — now I doubt if I cared even then for you. It 
was so long ago — one summer — I have outlived it.” 

, “ How can you mock me thus ?” he had answered 
her. “ You talked differently only a few weeks since. 

You led me to suppose ” 

“ What ?” she interrupted, with flashing eyes. 
“The man I once cared for was honorable and re- 
spectful ! I have no affection for the impertinent cow- 
ard who has just addressed me ! Long since he made 
himself obnoxious to me, and ought to have discovered 
it. If you are wise, Robert, you will take a lesson 
from your past that may be of service to you in 
future !” she had said, on leaving him. And on that 
evening, dressing herself as becomingly as possible, in 
a rich costume of white satin and lace, in readiness for 
an entertainment to which she had been invited, she 
went to her husband’s room, intending to confess her 
love for him, hoping thereby to appeal to some latent 
responsive chord that might still exist in the secret 
recesses of his heart. Not receiving any answer to her 
timid rap, she opened the door quietly, and discovered 


242 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


him sitting alone in the twilight. She was about to 
rush forward and throw herself at his feet, when he 
interrupted her purpose by starting up from his chair 
hastily, and saying, — 

Good heavens, how you startled me, coming in so 
quietly as you did, and looking like a ghost in that 
white dress ! What can I do for you ? Will you sit 
down, or shall we go below ? Is it the white dress or 
the twilight that makes you look so ghostly ? Or are 
you ill r 

I cannot say,’^ she answered, her purpose flown as 
he spoke. I came to inquire if you were not going 
to Mrs. Stewart’s to-night with me ?” 

^^Is it to-night? I had forgotten all about it.! 
No; I think I will not go. I am too tired. You 
can go, though, with your aunt and cousin. I will 
send word for them to call for you,” he added. 

Frank, why do you always wish me to go with 
my cousin? Let me tell you I see too much of him. 
You are always thrusting me into his company, and 
I will no longer endure it. I hate him !” Her voice 
was throbbing with passion, and she stamped her foot 
on the floor as she spoke. 

“ Dear me, how should I know that ? I thought 
you were the best of friends, and that you preferred 
his company to mine.” His speech seemed full of biting 
sarcasm. 

Why should you think so ? It is your place to 
accompany me; and when you cannot make it con- 
venient to do so hereafter, I will remain at home. 
I am heartily sick of being sent here and there, and 
jostled about as if I were an unnecessary encumbrance. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


243 


something to be gotten rid of in the easiest possible 
manner. It is your place to escort me, for you are 
my husband,’’ she said, angrily. 

“ Ah, do not fear that I shall ever forget that,” he 
replied, quietly. Her anger increased at this rebuff, 
and she scarcely realized what she was saying as she went 
on, — 

Frank Raynor, for four years we have been living 
a lie. Once you said you loved me ; I do not need cold 
words to tell me now that another feeling has crow^ded 
that passion out of your heart. Our lives are both 
made wretched, because we have no happiness in each 
other’s society. Let us separate and seek it apart in 
the world. I am sick, heartily sick, of the way we 
are living. I am not able to endure it any longer ! 
Four years already, think of it, and a future without 
hope of change. What if the world does talk? — let it, 
its gossip will be preferable.” 

Irene,” said Frank, coming towards her and laying 
his hand on her shoulder, ^^you are excited, and don’t, 
know what you are saying. Go to your room ; I will 
make myself ready and will accompany you to Mrs. 
Stewart’s to-night.” 

But I will not go now, — that is, I prefer to remain 
at home ” 

Are you quite sure ?” 

Yes ; quite sure.” 

Well, then, it shall be as you say.” 

She was ashamed of her unwomanly display of tem- 
per, but as there seemed nothing more to be said she 
left him. Too late, — too late. It is useless to attempt 
to awaken life in the dead; but I will continue no 


244 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


longer dependent on him, since I may not possess his 
love. There must be some escape, and I will discover 
it,” she said to herself. 

Frank had been puzzled at first by Irene’s manner 
that evening, and finally interpreted it as the bursting 
of a long-gathering storm. At Newbridge she had 
seemed happy and contented, but he had noticed a 
change in her manner ever since they had come hither, 
and she had met with Count Beaurynski again. He 
never understood the little advances she attempted; 
he thought she offered them as a sort of sacrifice, 
wherewith to appease her conscience for allowing an- 
other man’s image to fill her heart, never once dream- 
ing that she cared for him. 


CHAPTEE XXIV. 

In the morning Irene found a note under her door from 
her husband saying that he would not wait to breakfast 
with her, being obliged to leave on an early train for 
the city. Immediately on reading it she determined 
to take her picture to Mr. Wells, for after she knew its 
worth and had talked with him she could better be 
able to plan her future course. So, as soon as break- 
fast was over, she ordered the carriage to be brought to 
the door to convey her to the boat. 

I am going into the city to do some shopping to- 
day ; can I do anything for you?” she inquired of Miss 
Blaisdell, as she left the breakfast-room. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


245 


“ Nothing, thank you,” was the reply. 

When she arrived at the pier, she found a crowd of 
people waiting to go on board the boat, which could 
be seen in the distance, making its way towards them ; 
and carefully shielding her picture, which made a large, 
awkward, though light, package for her to carry, she 
made her way to the extreme edge of the pier, and 
stood there looking out over the water. When the boat 
had landed her passengers, and was ready to receive a 
new load, the people rushed forward with such force 
as to take her almost off her feet, making her utterly 
powerless to protect her picture, which was in danger- 
of being torn from its light frame. 

Permit me to help you, madame,” said a respect- 
ful voice at her side. She had not time to answer, or to 
see to whom she owed this offer of assistance, before a 
strong hand lifted the package out of her hand and 
held it aloft in the air, and the owner of the hand 
pressed close behind her until they were on board. 
Turning to discover to whom she owed this timely aid, 
she was not a little startled as she recognized Count 
Beaurynski. 

The color came and went in her cheeks ; but it was 
no time now to demur, so she silently allowed him to 
escort her to a seat, when, as he rested the picture 
against the railing near her, she said to him, — 

You have been of great service to me, Count, and 
I thank you.” 

“ I am happy to have been able to serve you, 
madame,” he answered, politely, as he lingered. She 
was silent ; and he finally continued, May I intrude 
myself a very few minutes, and sit here near you ?” 

21 * 


246 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


She hesitated a moment before answering him ; then, 
feeling that it would scarcely be right to offer objection 
to his society, having accepted a kindness from him, 
she told him he might. 

He had had no intention of going to the city before 
seeing Irene that morning, but had only walked down 
to the pier to watch the boat land its passengers ; yet, 
when he caught sight of her, alone and at a disadvan- 
tage, he made up his mind to serve her if she would 
allow him, and to seek on board the boat, as it sped on 
its way to the city, an opportunity he had long desired 
.yet never found for reinstating himself in her favor if 
possible. Scarcely knowing how to broach the delicate 
subject, he began by saying, — 

This is the first time that I have visited America 
since four years ago this summer.” 

Four years ! Is it so long as that?” she replied. 
Yes; and a long time — a very long time — it seems 
to one who carries a weight in his heart all the while,” 
he answered, in a low voice. 

Irene turned her face from him, and looked over the 
sea. A moment’s silence ensued before he continued, — 

^^I cannot fail to see, madame, how my presence 
offends you ; and I desire only to remain long enough 
to say a few words to you in palliation of a past 
offence, if you will be generous enough to listen to 
them.” 

She gave no other sign of hearing him than to make 
a slight, impatient move of her hand ; and he con- 
tinued, — 

“ I am the last male descendant of a family in 
Russia, who have for many centuries been active in 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


247 


its politics and the management of its affairs; and, 
throughout the whole line of my ancestry, no family 
in Russia has borne a higher reputation for honor, in 
both public and private life, than has been conceded to 
my forefathers on account of their merit. It was left 
to me — the last representative of the name — to cast the 
first blot. I do not know what evil genius directed 
my course when I succumbed to my baser nature, in a 
moment of unmanly weakness, and abused the inno- 
cence and modesty of one I cared more for than 
I am now at liberty to say. Perhaps, had I not 
esteemed her so highly, I could have forgotten in time 
that I had so demeaned myself ; but I am not able to 
forget; and there will be no peace of mind for me 
until I have confessed my repentance and besought for- 
giveness from her whom I thus wounded. I came to 

America with a view of seeking her ” 

Irene interrupted him, — 

I must not listen to what you are saying. I can- 
not fail to understand you, and am wronging myself 
and my husband by permitting you to continue. I 
beg of you to leave me to myself,’' she said, earnestly. 

Madame, I entreat you to hear me to the end, in 
justice to yourself and me. Let me assure you you 
will do no wrong to any one in listening.” He paused 
a moment before continuing. I came back here, and 
found the one whom I sought sooner than I had hoped. 
She was an honored wife, and avoided me as a burnt 
child shuns the fire, so that I could never approach her 
without adding to my former offence ; and I hope to be 
forgiven for having taken advantage of the first oppor- 
tunity that has presented itself in an endeavor to con- 


248 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


fess my sorrow and the remorse I have suffered, and 
seek forgiveness for the wrong I committed in the past.” 

Count Beaurynski,” Irene replied, turning her 
beautiful eyes on him, “ I regret that you have recalled 
the past ; yet, since your purpose is a commendable one 
and you have suffered so keenly, it would be unchari- 
table in me not to grant forgiveness ; and as I believe 
your penitence is sincere, I do most freely forgive you.” 
She extended her hand as she finished speaking. He 
took it, and held it a moment respectfully in his own ; 
then, thanking her, arose, lifted his hat, and walked 
away. 

Left to herself, Irene became absorbed in thinking 
over what the Count had been saying to her. She 
felt more kindly towards him now than ever before. 
Her aunt had told her more than once, in seeking to 
restore him to her favor again, that the best men some- 
times made such mistakes, led on by passion and the 
force of circumstances; perhaps it had been so with 
him, for she had been unwise and at fault in seeing 
him alone that day. In thinking of this she came to 
realize her position now on the boat. It had not 
occurred to her before that it was hardly the proper 
thing for a woman in her position to go to and from 
the city alone, until she noticed that the people stared 
at her curiously, and also that the women on board 
were in pairs or had gentlemen for escorts. She wished 
that she had brought June with her, only June would 
liave told Frank all about the picture, and she did not 
want him to know; and her aunt never could keep 
anything to herself, but was forever chattering, and the 
whole world always knew what she knew, so she had 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


249 


not even invited her to accompany her. Now she 
wondered if Count Beaurynski did not think it strange 
of her to come away alone, with such an ungainly 
package to carry. She became much worried, and felt 
grateful to him when he came towards her as the boat 
reached New York and olfered to assist her again 
through the crowd. 

He escorted her to a carriage, and conveyed to the 
driver from her lips the number of Mr. Wells’s studio, 
as the place of her destination, then as she noticed ever 
so light a shade of surprise overspread his countenance, 
she realized that she was about to commit another in- 
discretion by visiting an artist’s private studio with- 
out a chaperon; she thought of calling out to the 
driver to change his course, but afterwards reconsid- 
ered, for since she had come to the city on this secret 
mission, and her future plans were to be formed on the 
issue, the picture must be delivered by her; so she 
went bravely to the end of her journey. She found 
the artist busily at work in his studio. He arose as 
she entered with a look of affright on her pretty 
face. 

Why, Mrs. Raynor, this is an agreeable surprise,” 
he said, taking the package from her hands and offering 
her a chair. 

She dropped into it with an air of complete exhaus- 
tion, but recovering immediately, said, pointing to the 
package, — 

There is a picture I have finished and brought to 
you to have your opinion upon.” 

He undid the parcel, and she watched his face all 
the while. With a pleased expression he placed the 


250 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


picture on an easel and stood back to get a good view 
of it. 

Admirable ! Did you really do this yourself?” he 
said, finally. 

“ Yes ; do you think it good ?” 

Good? It is excellent. I could not make any im- 
provement on it ! Ah, Mrs. Raynor, you have a re- 
markable eye for expression, and a skilful touch. If 
you would devote proper time and study to art, you 
could make a great name for yourself.” 

‘^Do you really think so?” she inquired, eagerly, 
arising and going towards him. 

Yes,” he answered, unconsciously ; “ and in Paris, 
if you would only go to Paris, and then make these 
fancy studies that your taste inclines towards from life 
there, you would find a keener appreciation and receive 
a better price for them. They care more for art on the 
other side. They buy more pictures and pay better 
prices for good work there than in this country, and 
they offer a certain homage to the skilful painter who 
succeeds in pleasing their fancy that lifts him quite 
above the pale of common mortals. Here in America, 
— in my own country, — the gauge is not so much 
^how excellent is his work’ as ‘how much does it 
pay him’ that regulates the open sesame to the hearts 
and homes of society. I am an American, yet I would 
rather share my dog’s cot in Paris and be appreciated 
than to live in luxury here, where they cannot value 
properly what I have done. Pardon me, Mrs. Raynor, 
perhaps I am too severe, — but I have taken the medal 
three seasons at the Salon in Paris, and I recently 
placed one of my pictures here in the Academy, along 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


251 


with other American artists, a beautiful subject, 
Castle on the Rhine by Moonlight/ But a new man, 
lately sprung into publicity from a millionaire’s family, 
who does good work, I will agree, but no competitor of 
mine, was given first place, and all the glory, on ac- 
count of a few dogs and horses in a barnyard, fairly 
well painted. I am going to Europe next week, and I 
intend to remain there.” He wiped the perspiration 
from his brow, for it was very warm, and he had grown 
excited as he talked. 

Going away to remain, and so soon !” said Irene, re- 
gretfully. Oh, I am grieved to hear that, for I have 
counted on your help by the way of criticism, in the 
future, intending henceforth to devote all of my time 
to painting.” 

Yes, I have my passage already engaged, and shall 
leave next week. I want to enter the picture I am now 
working on in the Salon. Indeed, were it not that I 
had need of my time to finish it I should have been 
at Long Branch through these hot days. Now, if 
you were unmarried, and so had nothing to think of 
but yourself and your art, you could join a company of 
art students who are going over in the same steamer 
with me, intending to make a tour of Germany, Switz- 
erland, Tyrol, Italy, and France, with a view of study- 
ing life and scenery in each country. It would be a 
grand opportunity for you !” 

Mr. Wells, are you laughing at me ? Do you flatter 
me, or are you sincere in your estimation of my capa- 
bilities?” 

Why should I laugh at you, and lead your fancy 
at random over a field trodden already by so many 


252 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


unworthy of the slightest recognition because of the 
very crudeness of their efforts, if I did not feel that 
there was a great future to be attained by you. No, I 
am sincere ! But your home, husband, and society have 
so many prior claims on your time that your work will 
be neglected, and your progress impeded.” 

What price may I ask for this picture?” she inquired 
of him so soon as he had finished speaking. 

‘^This? Why — it will sell perhaps for twelve hun- 
dred dollars ” 

it worth so much as that?” she exclaimed, in 
excitement. 

No, candidly, it is not worth so much ; but you 
have a reputation as a society beauty and belle, and it 
will sell readily for that price on that account. Do 
you intend to sell it ?” 

‘^Yes; but I do not wish it known that I have 
painted it. Mr. Raynor does not know of it ; he has 
not seen it even ; he would certainly be displeased !” 

Well, at any rate, I would put that price on it. It 
is better to ask too high rather than too low a price, 
always. The public will the sooner notice it. A poor 
man will not buy, and a rich man is attracted first by 
the price, in America. The greater the price the 
greater the merit, in his eye. There must be merit too, 
but let a good price be put upon it. He loves better 
to point out a fine painting on the walls of his home 
to his friends and say, ‘ I paid twenty thousand dollars 
for that !’ rather than ‘ it is by Meissonier.’ So I 
would put that price upon it, if I were you.” 

Will you also advise me as to tlie best means of 
disposing of it?” Irene inquired, her breast heaving 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 253 

with the new excitement his words had thrown her 
into. 

Certainly ; leave it with me ; I will take it to an 
art-store, where I have friends, and have it so placed 
as to attract attention. But what name will you use ? 
Every picture must be known to be the work of some 
hand, if it be ^ Srnitld or ^ Jones.’ ” 

I have thought of that, and will say ‘ Norma’ is 
the artist. It is the name of the heroine of a novel 
from which I first read the incident that led me to 
paint the picture.” 

Very well, let it be ^ Norma’;” and he took up a 
small brush as he spoke, dipped it in some brown 
paint on his palette, and painted the name in one corner 
of the picture ; then picking up a card from the table 
near by he handed it to her, saying, — 

^‘And here, ^ Norma,’ — pardon me, but we artists 
must call each other by our professional names,” he 
said, laughing, — “here is the card of the friend with 
whom I will place your picture. I will ask him to 
inform you as soon as it is sold. Of course, I shall 
have to tell him your true name on that account, but 
he will never expose it.” 

Her mission being ended, Irene, thanking him, 
arose to go. At the door-way she paused, and 
said, — 

“What will be your address in Paris? perhaps I 
may go there this season.” He wrote his name and 
address on a card and gave it to her, saying, — 

“ So you expect to go abroad, do you ? The season 
is advancing ; it would be pleasant if you were going 
on the same steamer with my friends and myself.” 

22 


254 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


Perhaps I may, one time is as favorable as another 
for me ; but if I do, I will let you know beforehand/' 

By the way," he added, you are acquainted with 
two of our party, I believe, — Mrs. Frothingham and 
her niece, — they have spoken of you to me at least." 

^^Yes; I am slightly acquainted with them. Are 
they to be of the party ? I met them at Long Branch 
this summer. My aunt had their cottage that season 
when you first gave me instructions." 

^‘Ah, yes, to be sure! Well, they will be of the 
number. Miss Celia paints from nature. They spend 
much of their time abroad, and are most interesting 
travelling companions." 

How fortunate for me that they are going. I will 
see at once if I can arrange for the journey in time. 
Good-morning." She closed the door and hurried 
away. 

Whew !" said the artist to himself, as he stood with 
his hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets before 
the picture she had brought ; the woman has talent, — 
and spirit, too, and there is trouble brewing somewhere 
in the air or I am no interpreter of human nature.” 
And he viewed the picture in different lights, yet always 
with the same expression of satisfaction. 

Count Beaurynski, being overpowered by the desire 
to be near Irene, as well as curiosity to see the picture 
which she was taking to Mr. Wells, — for he was cer- 
tain that it was a picture, — directed his course whither 
she had gone, and waited in an apothecary's shop opposite 
the studio until he saw her depart, when, immediately 
crossing over, he tapped at the artist's door. Mr. 
Wells was glad to welcome him, for they were acquaint- 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


255 


ances of long standing, and they found many things 
to talk over of interest to both. The Count’s eyes 
roamed around the room, iinally resting on Irene’s 
picture. 

^‘Some of your work?” he inquired, carelessly, 
pointing towards it, when the artist had finished telling 
him of his prospective trip abroad. 

“ No,” Mr. Wells replied, and related to him confi- 
dentially how it came there and whose handiwork it 
was, not because it was his custom to betray confidence, 
but because he knew that the Count could be trusted 
with the secret, and thought there was no harm in tell- 
ing so long as her husband would not know of it. He 
was amazed, however, when his friend, after inquiring 
the price, pulled out a check-book and wrote out an 
order for twelve hundred dollars and handed it to him, 
saying,— 

^^The picture is mine. Get the check cashed, it is 
made out to your order, and return payment for it ; but, 
as you are my friend, let Mrs. Raynor not learn that 
the picture was purchased by me. And now I must 
be off. What steamer did you say that you are to sail 
on ? I will go along with you if I am able to secure 
a state-room on the same boat.” 

It is very odd how things do happen sometimes,” 
said Mr. Wells to himself, as he paced the floor after 
the Count had gone. It is very odd !” 


256 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


CHAPTEE XXY. 

Ieene after leaving Mr. Wells went about to attend 
to some shopping, which she wished to have seem as 
her excuse for coming to the city ; and as it occupied a 
longer time than she had anticipated, it was late in the 
afternoon when she returned to the pier. She was an- 
noyed to find the Count Beaurynski again one of the 
passengers on the returning boat, but he never came 
near her, and simply bowed in recognition in passing 
where she sat. 

When they arrived at Long Branch, and she was 
making her way through the crowd to the landing, she 
caught sight of her husband looking anxiously over 
the passengers as they came off the boat. As his 
glance rested on her face the look vanished for a 
moment and instantly gave place to another that seemed 
quite threatening as he looked behind her. 

‘^He is angry because I am alone,” she thought. 
But it was not that. He had seen the Count Beau- 
rynski close at her back. 

All the time he had been in the city that day he had 
been troubled on account of the interview of the night 
before, and had hastened home earlier than usual, hav- 
ing a dread of what Irene might do in his absence in 
this new and strange freak of her temperament. Upon 
hearing that she had gone into the city by boat, and 
alone, he was more worried, and went immediately 
down to the pier to watch for her return. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


257 


If she should never come back he said to him- 
self, with terror in his heart, as he watched the boat 
making its way towards the landing. But she did 
come, and the Count Beaurynski on the same boat 
with her. 

Irene, why did not you ask your aunt or sister to 
accompany you to the city, — or me even? I would 
have waited for you had I known that you contem- 
plated going.” 

I preferred going alone. June would have been 
a care, and Aunt Mollie wearies me with her endless 
chatter ; and you — you had gone before I was up.” 

Count Beaurynski was a passenger on the incom- 
ing boat. Did he go down with you this morning?” 
he inquired. 

‘‘ He went in the same boat, yes !” she answered, 
thinking that he was annoyed that the Count should 
see her without an escort. Nothing further was said 
by either until they reached home. There Irene found 
a telegram awaiting her from Mr. Wells, reading 
simply, “ The picture is sold. Have sent money by 
mail.” Her excitement was scarcely controllable. 

I am going to Europe,” she startled her husband 
by saying that same evening after dinner, as they were 
seated alone on the veranda. 

^‘To Europe?” he repeated, starting forward from 
his chair and turning to look in her face. 

Yes. I am weary of life here, and want to get 
away from it out into another world !” 

^^But I cannot leave now to accompany you,” he 
answered, as calmly as he could. 

There is no need of your going.” 
r 22 * 


258 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


You would not go alone, — without me, I mean ?” 

Why not ? You do not need me here. My com- 
pany is no comfort to you. I told you last night that 
I was sick of this mockery. I want to go away where 
I need only smile because I am happy, and not keep 
up a hollow sham over an aching heart for the world’s 
sake any longer.^’ 

Only smile because she was happy away from him 
was all he heard or heeded. 

Irene, Irene, what are you saying ?” he gasped, in 
a voice full of trouble. 

I am saying what I mean, — that I have lived for 
the world long enough. Henceforth I am going to 
live for myself. I shall, doubtless, leave next Satur- 
day with Mrs. Frothingham, her niece, and a com- 
pany of young people for a tour of the Provinces, with 
a view of pursuing my art studies with them.” 

You have your plans already laid out ?” 

‘^No; only thought out. I have come to consult 
first with you. I wished first to gain your con- 
sent.” 

And if I will not give it ?” 

^^But you will. Oh, Frank, how long do you 
think this life will endure? It is pitiful to think how 
we are both sacrificing the best years of our lives,” she 
answered him, entreatingly. 

What do you wish to do the rest of your life ?” 

Paint,” she answered, quickly, as if the word had 
been hanging on her lips for months. ^^Mr. Wells 
says fame, riches, and honor await me if I pursue the 
practice of my art diligently.” 

He has told you this ?” he inquired, as he looked 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


259 


on her beaming countenance, and thought, “She cares 
more for them than for me.” 

“ Yes ; besides, I am sure of it. See how quickly 
my first picture sold. Some one else evidently 

“I bought that picture,” he interrupted her by 
saying. 

“ You ?” she turned her face towards him in amaze- 
ment. 

“ Yes, I bought it. I did not want my wife’s handi- 
work or J line’s face to hang in a saloon, a gambling 
den, or a house of ill-repute, as it was just as likely to 
hang as in more reputable places, any one being at 
liberty to purchase it.” 

Instead of being touched by this mark of his con- 
sideration, Irene’s soul raged within her, at the knowl- 
edge so long withheld from her. 

“ Where is it now ?” she asked, authoritatively. 

“ I sent it to my mother in Boston.” 

She was too angry, too unsettled to continue the 
conversation, so without another word arose and 
went indoors. Late that evening, in looking out of 
the window of her room, at the back of the house 
facing the sea, she could plainly discern, by the light 
of the full moon, her husband pacing up and down 
there alone on the beach. She retired to her bed, and 
long after, how long was not aware, she aroused her- 
self from a half waking, half sleeping state and went 
again to the window ; he was still there, still pacing 
up and down as before. She knew he was sorely 
troubled, and unconsciously kept vigil with him in the 
seclusion of her room. Three times she arose and 
looked out on the beach, seeing him still there. The 


260 


MISTAKEN PATES, 


fourth time, as the first traces of another day were 
breaking over the water, she looked forth and he was 
gone. 

How his pride will suffer when I leave him,” she 
said, half aloud, as she lay down at length to seek the 
rest she was so much in need of. 

It was late the next morning when she awakened. 
Her husband had already breakfasted with June and 
left for the city. She found beside her plate a 
letter from Mr. Wells, containing the money for her 
picture, and upon reading the letter her resolution to 
go abroad strengthened and her enthusiasm increased. 

An old friend of mine,” he had written, a great art 
patron — not an American — chanced in my studio soon 
after you left and was so charmed by your picture that 
he purchased it at once.” 

The picture sold on its merits alone this time, for 
Frank had no knowledge of its existence, and the 
name of the artist is not known,” she said, and deter- 
mined to lose no time in making preparations for her 
departure. 

She first wrote a letter to her father asking his con- 
sent to June’s accompanying her on the trip; then 
tore it in pieces so soon as it was written, remembering 
that he would not receive it in time to answer, and sent 
a telegram to him instead. Afterwards she went out to 
call on her aunt, and when she had confided to her her 
new project, Mrs. Bostwick said, as if there was nothing 
unusual in this sudden plan of her niece, — 

How delightful it will be for you to go travelling 
all over those beautiful foreign countries, in such 
pleasant company ! I would certainly go with you, my 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


261 


dear, only you know my marriage takes place this fall. 
It is too bad that you will not . be here then, for of 
course the journey will take a long time and you could 
not return in season. And is Frank not going to ac- 
company you? Dear me, what will he do all the 
while ? No doubt you are sorry to leave him so long ; 
but then the benefit to your art studies and the plea- 
sure of the journey will outweigh the regret! June 
will take up his time, too. I never saw a man so 
satisfied with a child^s society as he is with hers. You 
intend taking June with you too? Dear me, how very 
foolish ! What will you do with her ? She will be such 
an extra care and expense too, and what will Frank do 
without her? You will like Paris, my dear, and Paris 
will like you. Try to be there when the season begins; 
you will be sure to create a sensation in society, 
under Mrs. Frothingham’s chaperonage. She has a mag- 
nificent home in Paris and has the mtr^ into the first 
circles there ; you could not be better introduced. She 
has no end of money, too, and possesses magnificent 
diamonds. What a pity that you have not diamonds 
to wear, they would add such brilliancy to your beauty ! 
And you want me to call on Mrs. Frothingham with 
you ? Why, she is not here any longer ; her cottage is 
closed for the season. She has gone to New York to 
prepare for this same journey, no doubt. I will go up 
to the city with you to-day, though, and call on her 
there if you wish.” 

Thank you, I wish you would.” 

“ Dear me ! you will have a great deal to think of, 
so little time, and so many calls to be made, too ! But 
do not take June with you ; leave her with me while 


262 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


you are away ; I will see that she is started to school, 
and will enjoy having her company. You had better 
leave her with me until you return.” 

I will see,” was Irene’s only answer. 

They went at once by cars into the city. They 
called on Mrs. Frothingham, who was pleased to learn 
that Irene would accompany them abroad, and sent 
to secure a state-room for her near her own. 

“ I am going abroad next Saturday,” said Irene to 
Mr. Blaisdell that same afternoon, after her return 
from the city. 

What !” he exclaimed, in astonishment. 

'‘Yes,” she continued; “ I am going abroad with a 
party of friends. Frank cannot leave just now.” 

“ But what will he do without you ?” 

" Do ? The same as he does now, I suppose,” she 
answered, thoughtlessly, then added, hastily, — 

“He finds his time so much taken up with his 
business and you that he will not miss me much.” 

“ Do I take so much of his time ? I did not mean 
to, I am sure,” the old man said, with regret in his tone. 

“ Not too much. He enjoys your society better than 
mine, I think,” she said, leaving him, not caring to say 
more on the subject by way of explanation. When her 
husband came home, she met him at the gate, say- 
ing,— 

“ I have told Mr. Blaisdell and my aunt, who will 
tell the world, that I shall sail for Europe next Satur- 
day with a party of friends, and I have telegraphed to 
father asking his consent to June’s accompanying me.” 

He staggered a little, and turned pale. 

“ Irene, are you mad ?” he said, sternly. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


263 


only just recovering my senses; awakening 
after a long season of stupidity.” 

But I will not consent.” 

‘^You had better give your consent and avoid un- 
pleasantness, for I shall certainly go, just the same, 
with or without it ; my mind is made up.” 

He had stopped when she first addressed him at the 
gateway ; now he proceeded on his way to the house, 
and she walked along by his side without saying 
another word. As he reached the veranda he turned 
suddenly towards her, saying, — 

There is another reason why you cannot go. I have 
not the means, and cannot afford it.” 

“ You need not afford it ; I mean to provide for my- 
self.” 

He looked inquiringly at her. 

Not what you have supplied from time to time, 
but what I have earned. I painted another picture 
since that fii’st one, which I have sold for six times 
what that brought.” 

“ Who bought it?” he inquired, his hurried breath- 
ing almost choking his speech. 

I do not know. A stranger. It was sold for me 
in the city.” 

All this has taken place without my knowledge ?” 

“ Why should I seek to intrude my art upon your 
notice when you have never displayed the slightest 
interest in it by expression or action ?” she answered^ 
haughtily. 

What was the picture?” he inquired, assuming a 
calmness that he did not feel. . 

The subject, — a woman waiting by a roadside for 


264 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


her lover who does not come. I have named it ^ The 
Trysting Place.’ ” 

He went into the house and up to his room without 
another word. She was much perplexed by his de- 
meanor, but he came to her door finally and said, — 

“ Irene, go abroad, since you are so determined ; not 
with my approval, remember, only I will not oppose 
your course ; but leave June here with me.” 

What will the world say ?” 

^^The world? You do not care what it says; you 
have said so already.” 

Let us first see what father says,” she answered, 
and he went away. 

Why dwell at length on all that ensued between that 
day and the day of Irene’s departure ; why rehearse 
again and again the heart-pangs, the regret, the sorrow, 
the silent contest between love and pride, the doubts 
fed by suspicion, the trivial actions and incidents inter- 
preted for such service, the sleepless nights, the many 
heartaches that were experienced by both Irene and 
Frank during the interval. They are felt in like 
degree in many hearts and homes, and buried there 
while the world is none the wiser. 

The great vessel stood at the dock to receive its 
precious burden of humanity. The deck was crowded 
with the people who were going away and those who 
had come to say farewell. Among them Mrs. Bost- 
wick, June, and Frank, who had come to see Irene off 
on her long journey. 

June was not going with her. A sad little letter had 
come to Irene in response to her telegram to her father, 
begging her not to go across the water lest something 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


266 


should happen to her and he might never see her again, 
and entreating her, if she was determined to go and noth- 
ing could change her, to leave June behind. I want my 
girls near me,^^ he wrote. I have no one left to me 
now but them. Do not put the great ocean between 
us. I want both of you where I can see you some- 
times ; but, if you must go, leave June behind and let 
her return to me, I want her where I can see her.’^ 
The writing was crooked and blurred, betraying an 
unsteady hand, and the paper was blistered where the 
tears had fallen as he wrote. Irene dropped more 
tears on its pages; and, folding it carefully, placed 
it among her treasures, writing a tender farewell in 
reply, and promising that June should return to him 
as soon as she had sailed. She sent him the number 
of Mr. Wells’s studio in Paris, and told him to write 
to her there always, and his letters would be forwarded 
to her wherever she might be. 

While Mrs. Bostwick was engaged with other friends 
who were sailing on the same steamer, Irene besought 
Frank and June to go below with her to her state-room 
and there spend the few moments that would elapse 
before the boat was to start. There, with the weakness 
and irresolution that comes often at parting, she caught 
both of her husband’s hands in her own, and with tears 
flooding her eyes said, plaintively, — 

Oh, Frank, it seems terrible, now, to part as we are 
doing. Promise me that you will forgive and forget 
all the cruel things I have said of late. I have tried 
so hard to do what was right and my duty towards you, 
and have failed utterly and hopelessly, and now my 
heart is sorely troubled at parting from you.” She 
M 23 


266 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


entwined her arms about his neck and clung there, 
hysterically sobbing all the while. 

Oh, I have been wretched and have made you and 
every one about me wretched all my life, but now, now 
it seems to me as if I cannot go.” J une, overcome by 
Irene’s emotion, was sobbing in sympathy in a corner 
of the room. Irene, drawing her towards her, and 
putting an arm about her, said, — 

‘^Come here, June; be good and kind to papa, 
and write to me about yourself and him every week, — 
won’t you, dear ? and I will send you both something 
nice from across the ocean.” 

Then they wept in each other’s arms, until startled 
by the bells warning all on board who were not pas- 
sengers to go on land. 

^^So soon?” said Frank, starting up in surprise. 

And I must leave you, Irene. Oh, my loved one, I 
hope you may find happiness and enjoyment in your trip 
abroad. I had so many things I wanted to say to you 
at the last moment before you should go, but they are 
all swept out of my memory now save one, — that is, 
that you must think of me as kindly as you can ; and 
when you come back” (the last bell sounded) — when 
you come back perhaps all will be different. I pray 
heaven that it may.” He pressed kisses hurriedly on 
her eyes, her cheeks, and lips, and slipped a purse into 
her hand. God bless and watch over you,” he added, 
and, taking June by the hand, hurried away. Irene 
followed them to the ship’s deck so soon as she recov- 
ered herself, and, leaning over the railing at the side, 
she sought for a last glimpse of her husband’s face in 
the crowd on the wharf, but could see no one she knew 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


267 


save her aunt standing there waving her handkerchief 
and nodding and smiling adieu as the ship moved out 
to sea. She could not see her husband, but he had 
seen her; and he saw near her, leaning against the 
deck’s railing with indolent ease and grace in the midst 
of all the excitement of waving hats, hands, and hand- 
kerchiefs about him, the form of the Count Beaurynski. 

My God !” he exclaimed between his set teeth. Is 
it possible that he, too, is a passenger ?” And he went 
to the ship’s office to assure himself. Yes ; there was 
his name on the list, and right beneath it the name 
of his wife. Those two together, and the names of 
strangers above and below them. Had it chanced that 
way, or was it all a scheme, a plan ? Had he been 
deceived and made but a miserable dupe all along ? 

Resigning June to her aunt’s charge, he went up- 
town by himself, studiously recalling everything that 
had transpired since they had first met the Count Beau- 
rynski. He went over every look, every action of 
Irene’s that could in any way strengthen his belief 
that she was in league with the Count, and had been 
planning all along to take passage on the same steamer 
with him. He recalled her agitation at the first meet- 
ing, and the day he had met her when she had returned 
from New York on the same boat with Count Beau- 
rynski. What her mission had been that day to the 
city he had not thought to inquire. Now he remem- 
bered that on that day she had first "^iven utterance to 
her determination to go abroad. Each word, smile, look 
of hers during the past weeks that could serve as con- 
firmation to this late distrust he pondered over until 
his agony of mind was terrible. For days he shunned 


268 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


the society of every one, seeking solitude with his 
thoughts. He weighed every word she had spoken to 
him at parting. He tried in vain to make excuses for 
her. Everything seemed to point one way. She had 
succumbed to the dictates of her heart, and had left 
him to keep near Count Beaurynski. 

He would not permit himself to doubt that she was 
faithful to him. He believed only that she was hap- 
pier near the one she loved, and had seized this oppor- 
tunity of travelling with friends in pursuit of art 
studies as an excuse for continuing in his society. 

What did she intend and hope for the future, he 
wondered. God and herself alone knew ! How she 
had clung on his neck, too, and kissed him at parting, 
with such apparent regret at leaving him ! Judas 
kissed Christ when he betrayed him, and sudden re- 
morse might have dictated her parting words. He 
made himself insane almost with such silent reason- 
ings ; and finally said, — 

There is but one avenue of escape for her, and I 
will furnish it, — divorce ! It will cost a great sacrifice 
of pride and hope, but may save her honor and secure 
her happiness.” 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


269 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

By chance and not intent the Count was a passenger 
on the same steamer with Irene, his first knowledge 
that she had ever so slight an intention of crossing the 
ocean having come to him when, in turning his glance 
from the fast-receding shores of America over the pas- 
sengers on deck, it rested on her tear-stained face 
and saw her eyes gazing across the blue waste of the 
ocean towards where the forms on land were no longer 
distinguishable with such an expression of longing and 
regret as was painful for him to behold. 

He had registered his name as a passenger that same 
afternoon on which Irene had visited the artist, and she 
had been the next to enroll after him. 

Irene was very sad and low-spirited for the first day 
or two on board ; finally comforting herself, however, 
by recalling her husband’s last words, Think kindly 
of me, and when you come back all may be diiferent.” 
Think kindly of him ; indeed, she would never be able 
to think otherwise, and she comforted herself with 
reasoning that perhaps this very separation for a time 
was all that was needed to bring their hearts together; 
and, going out on deck with others, her laugh was soon 
heard as merry as any. 

She met Count Beaurynski frequently, and, while 
never seeking his company, had stopped several times 
and talked with him pleasantly. What is the virtue 
of forgiving if one must ever harbor in remembrance 
23 * 


270 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


the fault forgiven ? she argued, and treated him kindly 
at all times. 

There were eight in the party of tourists, including 
Mrs. Frothingham, her niece, and Irene. Mr. Wells 
was not counted in their number, as he left them at 
London, going direct to Paris. They bade adieu to 
both him and the Count at the former place nnd pur- 
sued their course without them, intending to visit Paris 
on their return. 

Many days after the landing of the little company 
on foreign soil, — very many more it seemed to Irene 
than it really numbered, — ^they found themselves in 
Switzerland, about leaving St. Martin on their way to 
the beautiful Valley of Chamouni. They had visited 
so many places and travelled over so much strange soil, 
it was little wonder that both time and distance seemed 
greater than they really were. 

At each halting-place she inquired eagerly for letters, 
Mr. Wells having volunteered to forward to the com- 
pany according to their prescribed route, but no word 
had she received from her husband. She had written 
to him from London telling of her safe arrival, and to 
her father on the journey hither. At Geneva she had 
found a short letter from June, mailed from Newbridge, 
telling her that she intended to remain with her father 
all the time now, as he had been so lonely and unhappy 
without her. 

It is better so,” said Irene to herself, as she read 
over the half-finished sentences and the childish phrases 
with which the letter abounded, all the while wonder- 
ing why no letter had yet come from her husband. 
Jii company with Celia Frothingham, between whom 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


271 


and herself a warm friendship had sprung up, she 
lingered one afternoon on the bridge that crosses the 
Arve near St. Martin, gazing with admiration at the 
distant yet magnificent view of Mont Blanc that could 
be had from there, when a group of Swiss peasant girls 
approached near where they stood. 

Look, Celia,’’ said Irene, hastily, plucking at her 
friend’s sleeve that she might the more quickly turn 
from her silent admiration of the surrounding land- 
scape, ‘^have you ever seen a more beautiful face than 
that of yonder Swiss peasant girl, — the little one I 
mean, with the brown hair and laughing eyes ?” 

"Yes ; I see a more beautiful face each time I look 
into yours, my dear. What can you find in these com- 
mon peasant girls to attract you ? I have watched you 
when you were not aware gazing after them as if a 
prince or queen and retinue were passing by. As for 
me, I would rather direct my attention towards the 
handiwork of God, as shown in the natural scenery of 
this beautiful country, than to waste it on the common 
peasantry that people it.” 

" Ah, Celia, you do not see with my eyes. Now, in 
this laughing, innocent young girl, possessing such a 
perfect form, beautiful face, and merry disposition, 
with such quiet, modest, unpretentious manner, — the 
same that characterizes all the Swiss peasantry, — I see 
one who might without effort attract the admiration 
of a queen or prince, yet possessing that enhancing charm 
of beauty most attractive because of its rarity, — un- 
consciousness of it. Lend me your pencil for a moment, 
please, that I may jot down a description of her pic- 
turesque costume for future reference; her face I shall 


272 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


carry in my memory for one long while. When I go 
back I will convey it to canvas in a picture I now have 
in my mind’s eye, which I will probably name ^ Con- 
tentment.’ ” 

^‘When I go back.” How many times she had 
spoken that phrase during their journey. The farther 
away she got from her native land the more frequently 
the words fell from her lips. Once she had believed, 
down there in the cottage at Long Branch, that if she 
went away she would never return ; but when the 
steamer had sailed from port she had thought that 
some time she might; and, lingering on the remem- 
brance of the parting with her husband all the while 
since she had set foot on foreign soil, she had said, “ I 
will surely return to him, if only to discover whether 
my absence has awakened any slumbering remains of 
former affection, that may still survive in his breast 
for me, which may so endear my memory to him that 
he will long for my presence, and receive me with 
wide-open arms. Some say love sleeps and does not 
awaken ofttimes until its object is taken from it.” So 
she built her hopes, like air-castles high in air, to be 
overthrown and destroyed at the first breath of disap- 
pointment. 

She was jotting down in her note-book some details 
of the peasant’s dress when the guide approached with 
letters for Celia and herself, saying, as he handed them 
to the ladies, — 

We are to leave in an hour.” 

Thank you,” answered Irene, taking the letter he 
handed her ; and glancing at the envelope, completely 
covered with many changes in the addresses, showing 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


273 


that it had followed her about some time on their jour- 
ney, she recognized her husband’s handwriting in its 
first address. Her eyes sparkled and her hands trem- 
bled as she opened it, in her eagerness to peruse its 
contents. 

My letter, I see, is from a dear, quaint old friend 
in Paris. I must tell you all about him sometime, 
and take you to visit him when we are there. And 
yours? Well, there is no need of asking who has 
written yours. The color in your cheeks and the light 
in your eyes say plainer than words it is from the 
absent husband,” said Celia, in sportive vein. 

Yes, you are right,” said Irene; ‘^and, if you will 
be so kind as to excuse me, I have a fancy I should 
like to read it alone down on the banks of the river.” 

Excuse you ? of course I will ; and, indeed, I was 
about to suggest that I had better take this letter of 
mine, which is sure to be full of cutting sarcasm, light, 
bantering raillery and wit like former letters from the 
same pen, out of the sacred society of such an earnest, 
loving, longing-for-your-return epistle as that one of 
yours is certain to be ; so go your way in peace,” Celia 
answered her, merrily. And Irene went down on the 
bank of the river, and sat where she could look up at 
her friend’s laughing face above her, and read the letter, 
not once, but twice and thrice, all the color leaving 
her cheeks. Silently tearing it into fragments, at length, 
she dropped the pieces into the swift-flowing current of 
theArve, where they soon drifted away out of her 
sight. The words it contained were burned in her 
memory : Remain where you are ; I no longer desire 
or expect you to return to me. Our marriage was a 


274 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


great mistake ; anotlier, and perhaps greater one, was 
attempting to keep up the semblance of a happiness 
that did not exist. So soon as law permits, you shall 
be free to follow your inclinations ; until that time, be 
patient, do not forget that you are my wife and bear 
my name. May Heaven guard and protect you from 
all harm, and bring you the comfort and solace your 
soul longs for.’^ 

That was what had been written on the pages of the 
letter she had been watching for so anxiously for days 
past. The words had stared at her like death’s eyes, 
peering into the hidden recesses of her heart and seek- 
ing out each new-born hope and hopeful thought that 
might be grasped and destroyed. 

Irene, Irene, what is the matter ?” said Celia, 
coming down by her side and laying her hand on her 
shoulder. ^^Did you not hear me calling you from 
the bridge ? They will be waiting for us at the inn, 
and aunt will be annoyed at the delay. Good heavens ! 
what is the matter with you ?” she inquired, as Irene 
turned her face towards her, without a word, the ex- 
pression so full of misery, being pitiful to behold. 

He does not want me to come back,” she answered, 
scarcely conscious of what she was saying. 

^‘Who? Your husband? Of course not. Why 
should he? You have only just begun the journey, 
and there is ever so much to be seen yet, — so many 
places to visit ! Did you expect he would rave and 
cry, and beseech of you to return at once, bemoaning 
his loneliness in the first letter that he would write ?” 
said Celia, in a vain endeavor to olfer some kind of 
solace for an imaginary grief. 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


275 


“No, no; it is not that. He wants me never to 
return !” answered Irene, hoping to have her friend 
offer some excuse for even that request. 

“What are you saying? It cannot be that you 
have read aright. Let me read for you. Where is 
the letter?’’ Celia questioned, eagerly, strangely trou- 
bled by the increasing pallor of Irene’s countenance. 
Irene did not answer with words, but pointed silently 
to where the swift waters of the Arve flowed away 
under the bridge; then, losing all consciousness, she 
fell back on the shore. 

“She was overcome by the fatigue of walking,” 
explained Celia to the guide, who came up just at this 
juncture to learn what occasioned their delay; and 
they sprinkled water in her face and brought her 
back to herself again, waiting awhile afterwards until 
she should feel strong enough to walk back to the inn, 
supported by an arm of each. 

“She fainted from over-fatigue,” explained Celia to 
her aunt, who met them on the way, having become 
much disturbed by the guide’s absence. Irene repaid 
the kindly consideration by a look of thankfulness, 
and they proceeded on their way to Chamouni. 

They were in Venice, when Irene turned from the 
window of her room in the hotel, where she had stood 
looking despondently out on the wet street, into which 
a dismal rain was yet steadily falling, to answer a rap 
at her door. When she opened it a letter was thrust 
into her hand bearing an American post-mark and the 
stamp of Newbridge, yet directed in an unknown 
handwriting. Hastily tearing it open, she learned 
its contents. It had been written by a lawyer there. 


276 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


representing himself as counsel for her husband in a 
suit which he had brought before the court for divorce 
from her on the grounds of desertion. Had she any 
defence to offer ? In such event, her reply was neces- 
sitated within a stated time. 

Divorce ! Desertion She repeated the words 
mechanically, continuing, after a moment^s thought. 
As well that excuse as any other, I suppose.” An 
impulse burned within her for an instant to stop the 
procedure by returning to her native country and pro- 
claiming that it was false ; that she had never thought 
of deserting her husband. But it died out instantly, 
in the remembrance that such an act would not recover 
for her lost love, but cause more sorrow instead. She 
tried to calm herself with reasoning that it was better 
that they should be legally separated from each other 
than continue to live together, yet apart, as they had. 
But she was pained at the knowledge that the publicity 
of the separation should have its beginning in New- 
bridge. 

Frank Baynor had weighed the matter carefully 
beforehand, and with good counsel, deciding that, all 
things considered, there would be less of public com- 
ment if the case was tried at Newbridge, where the 
people there would hear the truth of the matter, and 
not revel in doubtful and exaggerated accounts of it 
from another city. Besides, the requirements of the 
law governing the granting of divorces were less ex- 
acting in that Western State than in the East, and 
they could be procured with lighter cause and less 
publicity in consequence. Irene did not know this, 
or, if she did, did not consider it. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


211 


He seeks to keep me out of the country even ; for 
how can I ever return and face the slurs of Newbridge 
people, for they will gossip about me though there be 
no occasion,’^ she said, in distress. 

Irene ! Irene The door opened and Celia’s 
cheerful face peeped in. “ Get ready quickly; the rain 
is over, and we are going to go now across the ‘ Bridge 
of Sighs’ and see the palace and prison which it sepa- 
rates. Make haste !” 

will join you presently,” said Irene, as lightly as 
she was able, seeking to conceal her distress. She had 
not spoken of her trouble to any one, save the few 
words that had escaped her tliat day on the banks of 
the Arve, when she had told Celia of her husband’s 
letter. She wrote hastily in answer to the letter she 
received, I have no defence to plead ; proceed with- 
out it,” and, calling the servant to post it for her, she 
donned her bonnet and went out about the city with 
the others. 

Beautiful Venice! Thy grandeur and magnificence 
sung by poets, painted by artists, set forth in prose 
recitals by many skilful writers, who had such appre- 
ciation of thy many splendors that in reading their 
descriptions of them one poor, lonely little heart at 
Newbridge had, not so long ago either, quickened with 
desire to behold what seemed like a dream that must 
be fully enjoyed in the reading about, as there was never 
a hope of looking on thee. 

^‘If I might only see Venice!” the possessor of this 
same heart had many times said, yet is now walking 
through your streets ; visiting your grand cathedrals 
and magnificent palaces ; wandering through the noble 
24 


278 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


halls and galleries with wide-open eyes that see naught, 
with listening ears that hear naught, yet with heart 
throbbing just as wildly now as then, only not for 
Venice, but for that other country where home was. 

They extended the journey farther than they had at 
first intended, this company of travellers, and it was 
late in the next summer when they came at length to 
Paris. Irene stopped at Mrs. Frothingham’s home, at 
Celia’s urgent request, and had been there but two 
weeks when a messenger brought to her, as she was 
sitting one afternoon talking and making plans with 
Celia for the following day, a letter from Mr. Wells, 
telling her he was about to remove his studio into 
more pleasant quarters, and enclosing a cablegram 
that had been sent to her in his care that day. In 
haste she tore it open. Its contents were soon read. 
Three words only, — 

“ You are free.” 

Such a pitiful moan escaped her lips that Celia went 
towards her and put her arms around her neck, drawing 
htir head so that it might rest on her bosom, and said, 
soothingly, — 

There, dear, you have been in trouble for a long 
time; have it over now in a good cry, and then confide 
everything to me.” And Irene wept so piteously 
that tears overflowed Celia’s eyes in sympathy as she 
bent over her. When she had become quieted a little, 
and could talk without choking oflP each syllable with 
a sob, she confided the whole story of her trouble to 
her friend, from its beginning in the little class at 
Sunday-school to the end, — the cablegram. 

And is that what has been troubling you all along, 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


279 


ray dear?’’ inquired Celia, when it was ended. “Now 
you will certainly forgive me, if I tell you you are 
very foolish to grieve so; you ought to be thankful 
that your fate has not been any worse.” 

“ Worse ! How could it be worse ?” 

“ Why, would it not be worse to have been obliged 
to live all your life with him not loving you, instead 
of a few months only ? Let me tell you a little of my 
own experience. I once loved a noble lord, and he 
was devoted in his attentions to me. My table was 
filled each day with the flowers he sent to me; he was 
my very shadow, so attentive he became ; and he was 
young, handsome, courteous, and a fine scholar, but 
poor. I did not mind his being poor, however, — I 
had enough and more than enough for both, — so do 
you wonder he found favor in my eyes? He asked 
me to become his wife, and I — ^poor, blind, silly girl 
that I was, believing he loved me — consented. Well, 
one day a good friend came whispering in my aunt’s 
ear, ^ I think it is the money that attracts the noble- 
man.’ So my aunt went suddenly to America, and I 
was left in charge of a good woman in London, poor, 
but an excellent companion, — so merry she was all the 
time; and I wrote a pitiful letter to my lordly lover, 
telling him of the change in my fortune, returning his 
ring, and offering to release him from the engagement, if 
he wished it, since I had neither noble name nor fortune 
to bring to him. Did he come down upon me with a 
shower of soft reproaches and chidings for my hasty 
act, and claim me just the same? Ah, no. He wrote a 
dainty little letter of thanks and regrets and so on. I 
will show it to you some day, for I have it yet, as a 


280 MISTAKEN PATHS. 

memento of the fickleness of man. And I washed out 
in a few tears all remembrance of the virtues which I 
had imagined he possessed and had fallen in love with, 
and returned to London to my former state just as the 
bells were chiming out his marriage to a French woman, 
a marquise, fifteen years his senior, with five children, 
and a fortune large enough to counterbalance all that in 
his eyes. Do you know that I have always been grateful 
to him for releasing me ? for think what I escaped, — a 
life without love. The case is not like yours, I know, 
only you must not spoil that pretty face of yours with 
tears and vain sighings and regret, but put your sorrow 
in the background as I have done ; forget it, and seek 
happiness with me in the world of art and society here 
in Paris. You shall henceforth be my sister. I have 
fortune enough for both of us, and I find such pleasure 
and comfort in your companionship as I have never 
before known. Don’t waste your life in brooding over 
love for a man who has ceased to care for you. Come, 
look up and smile again ; a smile has been a stranger 
to your face so long I shall scarcely be able to recognize 
it.” 

Oh, such a pitiful smile she summoned that Celia 
fell on her neck with kisses and fresh tears, saying, — 

“Forgive me, dear. I did not mean to be cruel; 
only you will try to forget him, won’t you ? It is 
better so.” 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


281 


CHAPTER XXyil. 

Not many days after the cablegram had been re- 
ceived by Irene, there came a letter from her father 
full of upbraidings for her wayward course. So he 
designated it, bemoaning the disgrace she had been the 
means of bringing on herself, her home and family. 

Irene was deeply pained upon first reading these 
harsh words and bitter reproaches, coming from where 
she had looked for pity and consolation, but upon read- 
ing the letter through a second and yet a third time 
she became so highly incensed against her father for so 
easily becoming prejudiced against her, that she im- 
mediately wrote a sarcastic reply, telling him that 
since he was willing to condemn her unheard, and con- 
sidered her so disgraced, it would, perhaps, be better 
for them to cease all communications. She would re- 
main where she was, and in time he might be able to 
forget her, and overcome the great injury she had done 
to his name and his home. She sent the maid to post 
it as soon as it was written, scarcely realizing what she 
was about. But there came a reaction immediately. 
Her mind had been so overburdened with care that it 
could not endure the additional weight of her father’s 
reproaches ; and her spirit that had so long been strug- 
gling to be patient and conceal every sign of sorrow, 
broke down completely under the strain. 

For days she tossed on her bed in the delirium of 
fever, and her friends were despairing of her recovery 
24 * 


282 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


as slie neared the crisis. It was passed in safety, how- 
ever, for she had received careful nursing, and slowly 
she began to recover. During the weary hours of con- 
valescence the consciousness of being dependent upon the 
generosity of Mrs. Frothingham and Celia kept forcing 
itself upon her; and she was taxing her mind continually 
in an effort to plan an independent future for herself. 

Celia,’^ she began, one evening as she lay stretched 
out on a couch, near which her friend was sitting. 
Celia was startled at the sound of her voice, for only a 
moment before, noticing that she had lain for some 
time motionless and with closed eyelids, she had ceased 
reading aloud to her believing her to be asleep ; now 
as she looked towards her she discovered her eyes wide 
open and fixed steadily upon her. You know, I am 
poor now — I — have — nothing,” Irene went on to say, 
taking up a rose from a table near her and nervously 
pulling the petals from its stem. 

There, dear, you must not say that,” said Celia, 
coming nearer to her, and pressing a kiss on her white 
forehead. have told you already that you must 
share in what belongs to me. You are my chosen sis- 
ter and companion ; I should be unhappy without you 
near me, and I have so much more than I shall ever 
need that you must let me share with you.” 

Ah, my friend, you are too generous. Already I 
am indebted to your aunt and yourself for more than I 
can ever repay, but I could never be contented to con- 
tinue in this state of dependence, while I possess the 
means wherewith to provide for my own support ; and 
I think I shall be able to provide enough by painting, 
do not you ?” 


MISTAKEN PATES. 


283 


I am afraid not, Irene ; there are so many artists in 
Paris,” Celia answered disparagingly. 

“But Mr. Wells has told me that I displayed skill 
above the average, and perhaps I might, by improving 
it, gain prominence and distinction some time.” 

“Perhaps,” answered Celia, with little assurance. 
“ Only put all such thoughts out of your head now, 
and get well first, then it will be time enough to think 
and worry about the future.” 

“But I cannot help thinking as I lie here, and 
it does me good to talk about it,” Irene answered. 
“ In a short time I will be able to begin practice, and I 
want to ask a favor of you now, — I have been think- 
ing about asking it of you for some days past ; it is — 
it is ” She hesitated. 

“Well, what is it? If it is within my power, let 
me assure you it is granted already,” said Celia. 

“ Well, it is this : Since I have nothing of my own, 
and must have help from some one if I would succeed, 
will you not loan me what money I shall require for 
my personal needs, and to pay for proper instruction 
in my art, until I am able to earn something by the 
sale of my pictures, and can repay you? You will 
let me have the money, I am certain, but I will never 
use it unless you will promise to allow me to repay it 
so soon as I am able.” 

“ You poor, dear child ! Certainly I will do as you 
request, if it will make you happier, only you must 
promise to stay all the while with aunt and I, and 
share our home with us.” 

“ Thank you, my friend,” Irene replied, earnestly ; 
“but if I remain with you here, there is something more 


284 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


I would ask. Here, let me feel your hand in mine, 
while I ask it, j)lease.” Celia smilingly extended her 
hand to Irene, whose thin white hand clasped nervously 
around it. 

^^Now, do not be impatient with me, Celia; but you 
know how cruel the world is in judging of any one who 
has been — been unfortunate like myself, and I dread its 
reproaches. People will not be able to understand why 
— why I have been divorced.’^ Irene’s hand tightened 
its clasp on Celia’s, and her voice was scarcely audible as 
she spoke that last word. “ I myself scarcely under- 
stand. It seems like some terrible dream. But what I 
want to do is to keep away from the sight of every one, 
save you, dear, and your aunt.” Celia unconsciously 
drew her hand away from Irene’s as she exclaimed, — 

Why, what do you mean ? Do you mean that you 
want to seclude yourself from all society? Do you 
mean that you will go nowhere with me, and that you 
will receive no calls ? Do you mean that you intend 
to remain shut up here all the time ? Why, you would 
never live a year in that way. Ho, I will never con- 
sent to such a wild plan — never. You are mad to 
think of it. Why, what pleasure could I have in 
society, knowing that you were moping here at home 
by yourself? Ho, you must go with me if you want 
to please me. Suppose people do talk. They can say 
no harm of you, and they will grow to think so much 
of you as they come to know you that they will cease 
to remember the past at all. Ho, I could never assent 
to such a wild plan.” 

Then I cannot stay here with you, Celia. I shall 
have to go away by myself.” 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


285 


Going away by yourself ? In Paris, too! Then 
indeed people would have reason to talk about you,” 
interrupted Celia, impatiently. The large blue eyes 
that had been turned towards her so entreatingly were 
now suffused with tears. She waited a moment for a 
reply to her last outburst, but none came. She was 
troubled as she saw the tears, and leaning over Irene, 
said tenderly, — 

“ Forgive me for speaking so unkindly, dear, and 
live in retirement for a while, if you wish, until you 
are stronger, and think the society of others will be a 
comfort to you,” and Irene looked the thanks she could 
not speak, and gave a great sigh of relief, while Celia 
contented herself with thinking she would easily induce 
her to go about every place with her when she was 
well and strong again. 

Three years passed, and during all that time Irene 
had heard nothing from home. 'No reply had come to 
that letter she had written to her father in anger ; and 
though she had since written a long letter to him, in 
repentance, begging to be forgiven, and one, also, to 
June, she had never received a line in reply. So, be- 
lieving they had ceased to be interested or to care for 
her, and wanted to forget her, she never wrote again. 
She had passed these three years in earnest study and 
practice of her art. She had taken lessons from one 
of the best instructors in Paris, and sought by every 
available means to gain a thorough understanding of 
painting. She had resisted all of Mrs. Frothingham’s 
and Celia’s entreaties to go out in society ; and though 
she left Paris whenever they left, and returned again 
when they returned, she always kept, as much as pos- 


286 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


sible, in retirement. And Celia, though she found 
much pleasure in Irene’s company, and though they 
went out often together, and read aloud to each other 
and had long talks that were always interesting, was 
not satisfied. She wanted the world to admire Irene’s 
beauty as she herself did, so was continually urging 
her to appear in society. 

Wait until I have acquired fame,” Irene had once 
answered her. 

But you will never acquire fame shut away from 
the world as you are !” Celia answered, impatiently ; 
then, after a moment’s consideration, said, Will you 
not sacrifice yourself for my sake ?” 

If it would bring you only pleasure,” was Irene’s 
reply, I would consent to your request at once ; but 
it would certainly bring you pain, and regret besides. 
You see nothing but good in me ; but society would 
want to know all about me, and would uncover the 
past ; and people would put their heads together, 
and whisper about me and pick me to pieces in such a 
way as might take away all the charms you now seem 
to discover in me.” 

And will you always live thus, or only until your 
beauty fades, and you grow cross and sullen, and are. 
no longer attractive to any one who does not know you 
as I do ? — for like that you are certain to become if 
you continue by yourself,” Celia replied. Irene made 
no answer, but silently seemed to ponder over what her 
friend had said, until vexed at her seeming indifference, 
Celia arose and went out of the room, leaving her to 
herself. 

Oh, if I but knew of some means of inducing her 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


287 


to come out of her seclusion !” she said, in a fit of im- 
pulsiveness, a half-hour later, to the Count Beaurynski, 
who was calling, and who had inquired after Irene. 
^^She is just pining away for want of the gay life of 
the social world, and looks so sad always that my heart 
aches on seeing her. I have offered every inducement 
in my power to suggest, without avail; and if she does 
not soon seek the change, she will assuredly die.’’ 

The Count started. 

Is there really no possible way of inducing her to 
change her mind ?” he inquired, anxiously. 

No ; none whatever, I fear. She says she will go 
everywhere with me when her pictures sell, and people 
talk of her present and future instead of her past, — a 
hopeless outlook.” 

Why does she not then offer her pictures for sale ?” 
he inquired. 

She has offered two charming pictures for almost 
a year now, yet no purchaser has been found for 
them. Why will no one buy them, I wonder ? The 
price is very low, and the pictures have merit.” 

Without seeming to heed the question, the Count in- 
quired where the pictures were exhibited, and soon after 
took his leave. 

Celia, Celia ; the pictures have both been sold at 
last,” cried out Irene, bursting into her friend’s room 
unceremoniously the afternoon following, and handing 
her an open letter to read. 

Celia read the letter, which was from the art dealer 
with whom the pictures had been left, and understood, 
though she never ventured to hint to Irene, who had 
been the purchaser. 


288 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


The Count Beaurynski had first learned of the un- 
fortunate ending of Irene’s marriage through her aunt, 
whom he had met accidentally in London at the opera, 
shortly after the divorce had been granted. He had 
gone over to the box in which she sat with a small 
party of friends, and when, in the course of conversa- 
tion, he had inquired about her niece she had told him 
about the divorce. Never should he forget the cold, 
heartless way in which she commented on the unfor- 
tunate affair. 

^^Of course, it was very scandalous,” she said, I 
never knew what the trouble really was, — Irene was 
always so odd. Desertion was the plea ; but dear me, 
he was down to the boat to see her off when she sailed, 
so, of course, there was nothing in that : it was but an 
excuse for obtaining the divorce. Yes, she was my 
sister’s daughter, and I was completely broken up about 
it. I really don’t know where she is now, — ^you see I 
neglected to keep up the correspondence with her, — 
somewhere in Paris, I presume, though, trying to paint. 
She was always wild about painting. Dear me, here 
comes my husband; of course, you knew I was married 
again? No?” and she introduced a great, coarse, 
brawny, red-faced German to him with whom he had 
talked a moment, excusing himself as soon as possible. 

Immediately upon his return to Paris, he had learned 
Irene’s whereabouts from Mr. Wells, and called at 
Mrs. Frothingham’s many times thereafter in hope of 
seeing her, without ever once succeeding. 

Though he was puzzled to understand why her hus- 
band had divorced her, nevertheless he felt certain that 
whatever the true cause might be, Irene had been 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


289 


guilty of no wrong-doing, and satisfied in knowing that 
she was free, had permitted wild hopes for a future 
with her as his wife to spring into life within his 
breast. He wanted to be near her ; he wanted to see 
her, and talk with her; and almost in despair, on account 
of his many futile attempts to secure an interview with 
her, he confided the whole story of his love for her to 
his mother, telling her all he knew of her past and 
present, and begging her to help him to devise some 
means of seeing her again. But the Countess Beau- 
rynski was shocked at this disclosure of her son’s love 
for a woman of such plebeian birth and about whose 
past the scandal of a divorce hovered, and tried to 
reason with him in hope of inducing him to forego all 
thought of such an alliance, urging him to remember 
his family, and his long line of ancestry, thus far un- 
mixed with any blood of common people, but he would 
infallibly and stolidly answer all her arguments, — 

I love her, and will marry her or no one.” 

She almost despaired of ever shaking his purpose ; 
grieved over his changed appearance, and sorrowed 
because he was unhappy, without ever relenting or 
entertaining a thought of aiding him in the further- 
ance of his desires. He had told her that Irene was 
an artist, but she attached no importance to that fact, 
even though she had admired the pictui^es which he 
had shown to her from her brush, for she had never 
heard her pictures spoken of nor her name mentioned 
by any one else. Yet there came a time when the 
papers all noticed a picture of hers — ^^An Ideal Head” 
— that was hanging in the Salon; and everybody who 
had seen it was talking about it and asking everybody 
t 25 


N 


290 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


else who they thought “Norma’’ might be. The 
Countess Beaurynski most willingly ^sented when her 
son invited her to go with him and see it, and stood 
almost one-half hour before it, among a crowd of others 
enchained there in a study of the singular expression 
and peculiar beauty of the subject, being interested also 
in listening to the expressed opinions of those near her. 

“Take me to see her,” she said to him, as soon 
as they were out of the throng. “ Take me to see her. 
I do not favor your suit, but I am curious to see the 
woman who conceived and painted that picture.” And 
the Count, fearful lest she should change her mind if 
he delayed taking her, even though he doubted whether 
Irene could be induced to receive her, gave Mrs. 
Frothingham’s address to the footman and ordered 
that they be driven there at once. 

While the Count Beaurynski and his mother were 
on their way to visit Irene, she was seated in her room 
listening intently to Celia as she read aloud the follow- 
ing extract from one of the daily papers: “Among 
the many excellent pictures on exhibition in the Saloriy 
one is extremely fascinating. The subject is ‘ An Ideal 
Head,’ and the artist, ^ Norma,’ — unknown to the 
artistic world. The picture is of a woman, and only 
the head and throat are visible on a background of 
dark clouds. The head appears as if tossed backward 
in coquettish manner, and a mocking, but not malicious, 
smile rests about the lips, which are rather full and 
slightly parted, disclosing faultless teeth. The eyes, 
which are of a soft, dark hazel, have a far-away look 
in them, and the short, curling, auburn hair forms an 
exquisite frame for this most interesting face. As I 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 291 

studied this picture closely I discovered its chief charm 
to be in the eyes, which appear so lifelike in their ex- 
pression that it is difficult to realize they are but 
painted ; and the dreamy look in them, contrasted with 
the smiling lips, seems to present two sides of a life, 
and leads one to stop and ponder over, without quite 
understanding, the strange combination. The air of 
mystery that seems to encompass both artist and picture, 
aside from the real merit the work possesses, make it 
quite the fashion to visit it. Hence the great popular- 
ity it has attained.’^ 

There, my dear; how do you like that?’’ inquired 
Celia, with dancing eyes, as she finished. 

Oh, Celia, I owe all this praise, all the distinction 
I have gained through this picture to you,, who had 
sufficient confidence in its merits to think of having it 
hung in the Salon was Irene’s only reply. 

It is indeed a great debt,” said Celia, and one 
that I cannot permit to go unpaid; and I insist on 
your paying it by degrees as I now dictate. You 
must drive in the Bois with aunt and I this afternoon, 
and wear what I shall advise ; then you must go to- 
night to the opera with us, and receive calls with us 
to»morrow in the drawing-room, and be presented to 
our friends, and ” 

Celia, Celia ; not all at once ! I will go every- 
where with you ; only let me go by degrees, for I shall 
be like a child taking its first steps ; and if you do not 
give me time to learn you will be pained at sight of 
my blunders.” Just as Irene finished speaking there 
came a rap at the door, and the maid entered bearing 
cards on a salver. 


292 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


For Mrs. Kay nor and yourself,” said the maid, as 
Celia took up the cards and read the names of the 
Count and Countess Beaurynski. 

Say we will be down immediately,” she said, dis- 
missing her and turning towards Irene, who wore a 
questioning, half-frightened look on her face ; without 
venturing a word of explanation she took a bunch of 
pink roses from a vase on the mantel, and hastily dry- 
ing their stems, pinned them at Irene’s throat, say- 

You shall take your first step now, by going down 
with me to the parlor to receive the Count Beaurynski 
and his mother, who have come to call upon you,” and, 
without waiting for her to venture a word of remon- 
strance, she took her by the arm and hurried her from 
the room. 

The Count was awaiting Irene’s approach in almost 
breathless silence, while his mother chatted away lightly 
and easily with Mrs. Frothingham, whom she had met 
on several occasions. She stopped suddenly, however, 
in the midst of a sentence upon looking up and seeing 
Celia and Irene enter the parlor together. So com- 
pletely was she taken by surprise at sight of Irene that 
she almost lost her customary self-possession on arismg 
to greet her. She had not expected to see so young a 
woman, and was overcome with silent admiration of 
the graceful figure clad all in white, with a mass of 
golden hair like a halo of glory about the pink and 
white face that turned towards her with such a plead- 
ing, hunted look, as made her long to offer assurance 
of enduring friendship. The Count was almost speech- 
less with joy at sight of the idol of his heart once again 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


293 


after so many months of weary waiting, and though 
there were many things he longed to say to her, he was 
content to look on silently as she conversed with his 
mother, all the while building his hopes anew for the 
future more extravagantly than ever before. 

She is certainly very beautiful, remarkably so, and I 
am willing to do all in my power to advance her socially 
and make her a success. It is a good time to do that, 
now that her picture has attracted so much attention,’’ 
said the Countess Beaurynski to her son, as they drove 
away from Mrs. Froth ingham’s. 

Oh, mother, mother,” said the Count, taking up her 
hand and clasping it in both his own, — And you will 
help me to win her? Will you not ?” 

There, my son, there is time enough for that when 
we see what she will do, and how successful she will 
become in society,” she answered, and he was content 
to wait, feeling sure that Irene would prove all that 
his mother could desire. The Countess had been much 
pleased with Irene ; but by no means had she become 
reconciled to the thought of having her for a daughter- 
in-law; yet, knowing that her son would never give 
her up so long as there was a chance of winning her, 
and believing, after carefully noting Irene’s meeting 
with him, that his affection at present met with no 
response in her breast, she reasoned that, on account 
of her beauty and her reputation as an artist, she was 
certain to become popular and would command much 
attention from every one, and some other man might 
become entranced with her charms who would find 
more favor in her sight than her son. 

Not three weeks after the Countess Beaurynski had 
25 * 


294 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


first called on Irene, she gave a reception at her house, 
and had the pleasure of presenting to her friends, on 
that occasion, the much-talked-of artist Norma,’’ for 
it certainly was a pleasure to introduce so beautiful, 
and, at the same time, talented a woman, and no one, 
if they knew of her humble origin, would venture 
to slight, or fail to accept most graciously and kindly, 
any one the Countess Beaurynski would favor. 

She introduced her to every one as ^‘Norma,” and 
though it seemed odd so to present her, it was Irene’s 
expressed wish to Mrs. Froth ingham, and through her 
to the Countess. When Mrs. F rothingham had argued 
that the name was too familiar for a stranger to use in 
addressing her, she replied, — 

The stranger will doubtless of his own accord ad- 
dress me as madame ; and now I am nothing to the 
world but ‘ Norma,’ a painter of pictures, so let that 
suffice.” 

From the time when she became known to society, 
all Paris was repeating her name. They spoke of her 
often as the lovely American who painted so exquisitely. 
Speedily there arose a desire for her pictures, and she 
worked hard to complete some half-finished ones that 
had been lying about in her studio for months, and 
sent them to be sold, asking treble the price she would 
before have thought of valuing them at, though 
nothing she ever painted could compare with that 

Ideal Head” that had brought her fame. They found 
speedy sale among her admirers. 

Bah ! why is there such a craze over that artist 
^ Norma’ ? Her paintings are daubs beside some 
pictures I have seen from greater artists, better known, 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


295 


whose works do not sell for half the price she asks for 
hers,” said one member of the English nobility to a 
Parisian. They had paused before a new picture from 
Irene^s brush while walking through one of the art 
galleries of Paris. 

People are willing to pay the price : why should 
she not ask it? Artists generally seek for their work 
all they can get,” was the reply. 

Yes, to be sure they do; but why do people pay it? 
It seems foolish, incredible, that any one in his right 
mind would ever pay fifteen thousand francs for this 
little picture of a Swiss peasant girl and her lover.” 

Ah, but it is not so much the subject as the work 
and the expression, and — the artist.” 

I admit that the picture has merit, but the price, 
the price asked for it is outrageous !” 

A sudden inspiration came to his friend the Parisian. 

Have you seen her ?” he inquired. 

^^Who? Norma? No.” 

Come drive with me on the Bois, she will be there 
in an hour ; she drives there almost every day about 
the same time; and, after you have seen her, you will 
be better able to understand why her pictures sell for 
the price they do.” 

A fair young face, with large blue eyes overflowing 
with expression, a delicate pink and white complexion, 
and golden hair, — all this and a mass of feathers and 
lace of some light shade ; he never noticed what shade, 
so absorbed had he been with the face, and so quickly 
had it passed him by, this critic, this English noble- 
man, an hour later as he was driving with his friend. 

Jupiter! George, who is that woman?” he ex- 


296 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


claimed, turning and looking after the carriage they 
had just passed. 

Which one ? There were three.” 

“ I saw but one, — such delicate, exquisite loveliness 
as I have never looked on before ! — the one with the 
golden hair.” 

Oh, that one? Did you notice her? Why, that 
was ‘ Norma,’ ” answered his friend, silently enjoying 
the surprise depicted on the other’s countenance. 

“ What, that young thing ?” 

‘‘ Why, man, she is a woman, young of course, yet 
she it is who is turning half the heads in Paris. Go 
to the Embassy ball to-night, you will doubtless meet 
her there, — the Countess Beaurynski will present you, 
if you so request her, and one more will be added to 
her train of devoted followers.” 

The Englishman did go to the ball ; was presented to 
‘ Norma,’ who only smiled, and spoke a word or two 
to him pleasantly, as she had done to many others that 
same evening ; but the next day he went back to the 
picture-gallery and paid fifteen thousand francs for the 
picture of a Swiss peasant girl and her lover. 

Such was the popularity Irene had attained, every 
one seemed charmed by, and sought to pay tribute to 
her youth and beauty, yet she favored no one more 
than another. She was invited to every entertainment 
of note. She never declined going anywhere with 
Mrs. Frothingham and Celia, and she always attracted 
attention and admiration wherever she appeared. Her 
costumes were made by the most skilful of Parisian 
modistes^ and were marvels of art, designed to set 
off every charm of her form and face. She wore 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


297 


diamonds, too, and they added brilliancy to her beauty. 
She had come entirely out of her seclusion, and was 
seeking happiness in a world that gossiped and gos- 
siped about her past, yet unable to trace up any 
error in it was willing to pay homage at the shrine of 
her beauty. And she laughed, and talked pleasantly 
to every one, and seemed to enjoy it all. Celia thought 
so at any rate, never dreaming of the many nights 
when the beautiful eyes had wept secretly, after re- 
turning from entertainments where their owner had 
been in receipt of more attention and admiration than 
any other woman present, where she had overheard a 
whispered malicious reference to her past. 

Two years were thus spent by Irene, and at the 
end of that time the Count Beaurynski was no nearer 
the realization of his hopes than at the beginning. 
Once he had ventured to speak to her of love, and she 
had begged him to desist, as her heart was buried in 
the past. Two years Norma^^ had been prominent 
in society, when suddenly she disappeared from it just 
as mysteriously as she had entered it, and was heard 
of no more. 

She had wearied of the world before it had wearied 
of her, and sadly recalled how, in childhood^s days, she 
had often thought that she would be supremely happy 
if she could but wear beautiful dresses and diamonds, 
and go into society, and have everybody admiring her ; 
— if she could acquire fame, and have people look after 
her as she passed through a drawing-room or along 
the street, mentioning her name with praise and honor ! 
It had all been granted to her, only in a greater degree 
than she had ever dreamed of. Many nobles were in 


298 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


her train, ready to lay their hearts and titles at her 
feet. Yet one day, while her glory was at its height, 
she felt an irresistible longing to go back to dear 
old Newbridge, to go again through the rooms, and 
look on the homely walls that had once been home ; to , 
take her father’s hand, and hear him say that he cared 
for her still, and had forgiven the mistakes she had 
made; to look into little June’s bright eyes that were 
always laughing. Little ! Why, she must be tall 
now, — a young woman. Ten and six are sixteen. 
And it had been six years since she had seen her last, 
and the desire increased as she realized what a time it 
had been since she had separated from father and 
sister. 

Dear Irene, I have found a conquering hero at 
last,” said Celia, coming into her room one of those 
days while she was thinking of home ; and sitting down 
by her side, in excess of happiness, she poured out a 
tale of love that brought tears to her listener’s eyes, so 
lonely it made her feel. He had no line of noble 
ancestry, this lover of hers ; but he was one of her own 
countrymen, handsome, gifted, richer than she was, 
even; and he loved her, and was loved by her in 
return, — the same old story over again. Irene listened, 
and a void seemed forming in her life. 

If you would only consent to listen to the Count 
Beaurynski, dear, you, too, would be happy, I am cer- 
tain. He is so good, so noble, so considerate, you 
would never have cause for regret, I am sure.” 

“ No, no, Celia. Please do not speak of it. I have 
no room for him in my heart ; it is filled already by 
another. I am glad, though, that you are so happy, 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


299 


because you deserve to be. And now you will be so 
engrossed with your lover’s company that you will not 
miss me if I go away for a little while, — back to New- 
bridge, where I spent my childhood’s days, — only for 
a visit, dear,” she said, as her friend was about to re- 
monstrate, — only for a short visit. I will return 
again, I promise you ; only I want to see my father 
and sister. I have not heard from them in a long 
while, — and they are over there, you know.” 

Ay, — and so is your heart, poor child. God grant 
you may find it again and be happy,” thought Celia, 
as she kissed her friend lovingly, and left her alone 
with her thoughts. 


CHAPTER XXyill. 

It was in the Fall of the year. The leaves were 
just beginning to turn, and the yellow daisies to dry 
up on their stems, when among the passengers that 
alighted from the west-bound train at Newbridge 
were two women, — one, elegantly attired, tall, and of 
such graceful mien that, instinctively, one felt that her 
face must be beautiful, though it was hidden from 
sight behind the thick veil that covered it. She leaned 
on the arm of the other woman, who was evidently a 
servant. Entering one of the carriages in waiting, a 
number was given by the maid to the cabman, and 
they were driven away. They stopped a few moments 
later before the door of the house that had once been 
John Patton’s home, and the lady alighted, while the 
maid remained seated in the carriage. 


300 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


The neighbors who were within seeing distance as 
they drove up, hung over the fences or gathered 
in groups on the sidewalk, making wild guesses as to 
who the grand lady could be who had come thus 
among them ; gossiping and chattering among them- 
selves while they awaited her return to the carriage. 
The children playing about in the street all flocked to 
the sidewalk in front of it, and, filing themselves in 
double line, stood staring at the horses and driver and 
remaining occupant. 

The woman who alighted — Irene, as you have already 
guessed — threw back her veil as she opened the gate, 
and a look of pain flitted over her face as she noted 
the neglected and dilapidated appearance of the house 
and its surroundings. The shutters were loosened 
from their hinges ; the steps and floor of the portico 
were broken ; the vines that her mother had so care- 
fully trained to climb up over its sides and roof for so 
many years were all gone — torn away ; the plot of 
ground that had once been so green was now dead, 
and strewn about with papers, sticks, scraps of twine, 
broken toys, dishes, and crockery. Not a flower was 
to be seen where morning-glories and nasturtiums used 
to climb and blossom, — no trace of the plot where 
geraniums and verbenas had once flourished ; but, in- 
stead, an air of ruin and desolation pervaded the whole 
place. All this she noted in one sweeping glance, and 
went on up to the door, with a dread at her heart that 
all was not well with her father, or he never would 
have permitted this change to come to his home. 

She rang the bell, — which reverberated with a hol- 
low, jingling sound throughout the house, — and heard, 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


301 


presently, heavy, shuffling shoes advancing over a bare 
floor, followed by the pattering of the bare feet of 
children. The door opened, and a strange woman, in 
slovenly apparel, holding a young babe in her arms and 
followed by two dirty children clutching at her dress, 
stared at her from within. 

Good-morning, madame,” said Irene, as pleasantly 
as she could ; may I beg a few minutes’ conversation 
with you ?” She did not want to talk with her at the 
door with all those women outside gaping at her. 

Yes’m,” the woman answered, in a coarse, grating 
voice, staring at Irene from head to foot all the while. 

Jest walk in this way, ma’am.” And she opened the 
door of the room that had once been their parlor. What 
a change was there, — a few pieces of plain furniture 
scattered about, a faded, ragged carpet on the floor, dirt 
and disorder everywhere. 

She dropped down wearily on the nearest chair, 
the woman taking a seat opposite her, with her babe 
on her lap and the two other children standing one on 
each side of her staring with wide-open eyes at Irene, 
who began by saying, — 

“ I came to inquire after a man who once lived here, 
John Patton.” 

John Patton ? La, me, he has been dead this three 
years past.” 

“ Dead !” Irene gasped, starting forward with staring 
eyes and whitening lips, believing she had not heard 
aright. 

Why, yes’m; he used to live here with Mr. Bouser, 
our landlord, the man as owns the house, and used to 
live here himself once, John Patton boarded with his 
26 


302 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


folks then, though I never knew him; but I lived in 
the next street, and did know, as everybody around 
knows, that he never was the same after his wife died ; 
and after his oldest daughter ran away with another 
man, and left her husband and sister and him, he sort 
of crazed like, they say, and then he lost his job, and 
finally he up and died one day, about three years past 
now/^ 

. Was he alone when he died? I mean was any of 
his family with him?’^ 

Why, yes. After the oldest daughter left her hus- 
band and went to Europe, the youngest one came home 
to her father, and she was with him all the while till 
he died.’’ 

Where is she now ?” 

“Well, when the old man died, they do say that 
Mr. Eaynor, the husband of the one who ran away, 
came here and gave him a decent buryin’, as he had 
nothing left when he died, having sold all of his property 
from time to time to pay his living expenses; and so, 
after the funeral, Mr. Eaynor took the other girl away 
with him again. I can’t say where she is now ; but I 
know she didn’t have nothing to live on when her 
father died, for he’d even neglected to keep up his in- 
surance on his life, they say, when he got weak-minded, 
and so there was nothing from there. I don’t know 
where the girl is now, but I’ll tell you what it is, I 
shouldn’t wonder but Mr. Bird the ’piscopal minister 
could tell ; he lives in the Eaynors’ house, and Mr. 
Eaynor stops there always when he is in town. He and 
the minister always was sort of chummy ; lived together, 
and all that, before they went away from here.” 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


303 


The woman was in her element, retailing gossip 
whenever opportunity afforded ; perhaps, had she loved 
less to hang on the fence and talk with her neighbors 
her house might not have suffered so much from lack 
of proper care and attention. She had revelled in the 
same gossip at the time it first started ; it \vas an old story 
now, but she was happy in telling it to a new listener. 

Tell me,” said Irene, as she arose to go, who said 
that she, the married one, had gone away with another 
man ?” 

^^La me, miss, everybody knew of it. I couldn^t 
say any more who first told it; though, now I think 
of it, Minnie Barnes, old Jim Barnes’s daughter, could 
tell you ; she knows all about it ; she used to be awful 
thick with Frank Raynor’s wife before they were mar- 
ried ; and she said that she, his wife, was in love with 
some Count or Lord before she was married, and that 
she only married Mr. Raynor for spite, and ran away 
to Europe with the foreigner after all.” 

Did she tell that to you ?” 

^^No, miss. I never knew her to speak to, but Mrs. 
Carson said as how she just up and asked her one day 
when she was passing, having heard that she knew all 
about it and had told it to others, and so got the truth 
of it from her own lips.” 

Thank you,” said Irene, turning to go. 

What name may yours be, miss?” inquired the 
woman, curiously, as she followed her to the door. 

^^No matter; you would not know me; here is 
something for your trouble,” and thrusting a gold piece 
in the woman’s hand she entered the carriage and was 
driven away. 


304 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


The women along the street came flocking to learn 
who the lady was who came driving in a carriage, so 
elegantly dressed, and so early in the morning, to call 
on one of their neighbors. 

“And, indeed, it’s just come to me,” answered the 
woman, still staring at the gold,— “it’s just this 
moment come to me that it was Frank Raynor’s wife 
herself, come back at this late day to look after her 
poor old father.” And they gossiped and surmised 
with nodding heads and overwise countenances out 
there on the sidewalk. 

Irene meanwhile was riding out towards the ceme- 
tery, where all that remained of the parent she had 
come to seek now lay. The old sexton led the way 
to the grave, at her request. She felt so weak, and 
everything seemed so strange and unreal to her 
troubled mind that she feared to venture alone to 
where he had at first but directed her, lest some mishap 
should befall her. 

She found there two hillocks side by side, and two 
tombstones of the same shape and size. On the one, 
an inscription, giving the dates of the birth and death 
of jier mother, and on the other the name of her father, 
and the date of his death, with this inscription beneath, 
“ He giveth his beloved sleep.” 

The sexton walked aside that he might not intrude 
on her sorrow. And, overcome with grief and remorse, 
she threw herself on the ground, at the foot of the 
latest gravestone, with such expression of anguish as 
he had seldom witnessed before. 

He knew it was the absent daughter, though he had 
never seen her, but he had heard the story of her life, 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


305 


as the others had, and he thought she had returned 
repentant, though too late. - 

Poor Irene, she could recall nothing, as she wept 
there, but the tear-blistered letter that had come to 
her before she had left her native country. 

I want to see my girls. I want them near me.” 
And she had not heeded, but had gone out in the 
world, with no thought save of self and the pursuit 
of her own happiness all these years. She thought of 
the last time she had seen him, walking away from the 
train, wiping the tears from his eyes, and turning 
again for a last look at his girls, who were leaving 
him. The selfish heart will come to remember, some 
day, cross words, broken promises, forgotten kindnesses, 
and that one word, remorse, carries a weight of meaning 
with it then for such an one. 

She turned from the graves finally, and retracing 
her steps to the carriage, directed the driver to go to 
the home of Mr. Bird. When they stopped before the 
house she made no move to alight for several moments, 
seeking to first gain command of her grief, which 
seemed overpowering at the time; for, besides the 
painful recollections of a mistaken past, a wrecked 
happiness, and wasted opportunities, which sight of the 
house awakened, came the thought that perhaps she 
might no longer be permitted to call its present occu- 
pants her friends since the world had undertaken to 
explain her absence as it had. Yet realizing that she 
must go within just the same, in order to learn the 
whereabouts of her sister, she said to her maid, — 

Come in here with me, Maria,” and alighted from 
the carriage. She walked slowly up the path leading 


306 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


to the door, and paused with her hand on the bell-knob, 
at the sound of a voice, familiar to her in the past, 
calling her name. 

Irene! Irene! what are you doing? Come here 
to me at once.” The voice came out through an open 
window above her head. She pulled the bell with 
sudden force, in her anxiety to respond to the summons. 

The door was opened by her former servant, Arsine. 

The Lord save us, — the missus !” she exclaimed, 
starting back at the sight of her, and, without waiting 
to invite her to enter, she ran hastily into another 
room, calling out, Mrs. Bird ! Mrs. Bird ! do come 
down at once. Mrs. Kaynor^s come back !” 

Dora hurried below, scarcely able to understand 
what Arsine was saying, and upon encountering Irene, 
was so overcome by her surprise that she could only 
exclaim, with no other attempt at arreetino:, — 

« You here?” 

‘‘Yes,” Irene gasped in reply. “You saw me from 
the window, did you not? You called my name?” 

“ Oh, did you hear me ? That was my little Irene, — 
my child I was calling, whom I named after you ; this 
little thing,” she said, as she drew to herself and put 
one arm about a little girl, who had followed her into 
the room ; “ and this is Frank, my boy,” she said, as she 
put the other arm about a boy younger than the girl. 

It seemed to Irene, as this explanation was given, 
and as each arm of her friend encircled her children, 
as if there was no room left for her. She attempted to 
speak, but her lips only trembled, and would not artic- 
ulate a syllable. Her form tottered, and she was 
about to fall, when instantly the arms that a moment 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


307 


before had entwined the children were thrown about 
the wavering figure, and warm kisses were showered 
on her face as gentle words of welcome fell on her ear. 

It was too much for her to bear, after the morning^s 
bitter experience, and she broke into a torrent of tears 
that spoke plainer than words to the sympathetic heart 
beside her of pain, sorrow, and remorse. 

Lie here awhile, until you are stronger,” said 
Dora, tenderly, leading her to a sofa at one end of the 
room. There, do not say a word,” she added, as Irene 
was attempting to make reply. ‘‘ I will have Arsine 
make you a nice cup of tea, — it will do you a world of 
good, — and, afterwards, we will talk over everything.” 

The tea was brought, and was so refreshing that, 
after drinking it, Irene immediately begged her friend 
to take her into a room where they might talk together, 
alone and undisturbed. 

Come right in here, dear, — your own room, you 
see, which I have kept as well as I could, just as you 
left it, feeling sure you would return some day to visit 
us, and occupy it again. Now, if you feel strong 
enough, tell me all about your trouble, from the be- 
ginning, if you will. I promise, beforehand, not to 
chide, but to give you my sympathy ; for I am sure 
there is a different story from that which the world 
tells, and I want to learn it from your own lips.” 

Do they really say that I went away with an- 
other?” 

^^Some idle gossip-mongers have said so; but we 
have denied and never believed it, dear.” 

But what does he — Frank say ?” 

Nothing. He never refers to the past in any way, 


308 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


before us, so we keep silent on the subject when he is 
here ; but tell me, how come you to be here now, with- 
out my knowing it ?’^ 

I came back to visit my father and sister,” spoke 
the faltering lips. 

Your father ?” began Mrs. Bird, in a low voice. 
“ Ah, you already know,” she said, as Irene buried her 
face in her hands. Don’t grieve so, dear. I think he 
is happier now with your mother, whose loss he con- 
tinually mourned; and June ” 

^‘Yes; tell me about my sister, — where is she?” 
interrupted Irene. 

^^She is in New York with Frank and his mother; 
contented, happy, and well cared for, let me assure 
you. I will tell you how she came to be with them, 
after you have told me all about yourself.” 

It was a long story ; but Irene told all the circum- 
stances that had influenced her marriage and separation, 
even to the love that was concealed in her breast for 
him who had been her husband. The words of sym- 
pathy and encouragement the confession called forth 
from her listener brought true comfort to her bruised 
heart. 

Do you really believe that he hates me ?” she in- 
quired, when she had finished. I could be better 
contented with my present lot if I but knew that he 
did not hate me.” 

‘^Hate you? No heart has ever known more en- 
during love than his has been all the while, notwith- 
standing the tests it has had ! I am certain of this, 
though he has never told me so. Look up, Irene, and 
hope. The future is still bright before yoy ; think what 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


309 


happiness it may yet hold for you ! There exists some 
grievous misunderstanding that will certainly be ex- 
plained in time.’^ Then this good friend confided to 
Irene all she knew about her father and June, and 
finished by saying, — 

“ You must remain with us for a time, and I will 
send for J une to come here without delay. It will be 
pleasanter for you both to meet here, and you will be 
together just as soon. No, you must not write to her; 
let me do that. I want her to be surprised, and not to 
know until she sees you that you are awaiting her here, 
and you must rest meanwhile and make ready to 
welcome her.’’ 

Irene consented to follow her friend’s advice ; yet she 
wondered all the while whether it was possible that 
Dora feared June had been prejudiced against her and 
would not come where she was, if she was to have 
knowledge beforehand that she was to meet her. 

The minister’s greeting was very cordial ; and Irene 
found much comfort in the society of these two friends 
and their children, while she waited for her sister’s 
coming. 

June will be here to-night,” said Dora to Irene, one 
morning just two days after her arrival ; and since the 
day will seem long with waiting, and the weather is so 
unusually warm and pleasant for this time of year, 
suppose we take a drive out into the country, a short 
distance. It will be a pleasant way of passing the 
time and will make it seem shorter.” Irene gladly 
acquiesced to this plan of her friend’s, and tliey rode 
out together ; and went so very far out into the coun- 
try that before their return (as Dora drove slowly, 


310 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


seeming in no haste to get back) Irene grew weary and 
cold, and was greatly relieved to get into the warm 
atmosphere of her friend’s house. 

Just wait here a minute,” said Dora, as soon as 
they entered the parlor, going out of the room before 
Irene had time to reply. She came back almost in- 
stantly, however, and said with mocking authority in 
her manner, — 

I wish you would go to your room, remove your 
wraps, and come back here immediately. I have pre- 
pared a pleasant little surprise for you, and will await 
you here.” 

Irene laughed, then said excitedly, — 

Is June here already ?” 

‘^You are expecting June to-day, therefore seeing 
her will be no surprise. No, it is not that; and you will 
not be able to discover until you come back, so if you 
are curious — hasten.” 

Irene hurried away, wondering what it was that her 
friend had in her mind that made her eyes look so much 
brighter than usual. When she descended again to the 
parlor, and had her hand on the knob of the door 
about to open it, it opened for her from within ; and 
she looked up, speechless with amazement, on discover- 
ing her former husband standing before her. 

He grasped her by the hand and led her wdthin, 
saying excitedly and passionately, — 

Irene, my beloved, forgive me. Mr. Bird has told 
me how I have misunderstood you all along; forgive 
me, and tell me that you love me still. I never dreamed 
that it was your cousin you cared for, but thought 
always that it was the Count Beaurynski.” 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 311 

“The Count Beaurynski!” exclaimed Irene, in 
amazement. 

“ Yes, yes. You see he sent a man here to inquire 
about your family, and then he went away so suddenly 
after he discovered you were poor ; and you seemed 
troubled when you read his hasty farewell on a card the 
day I called at your aunt’s. Do you remember? And 
you always blushed and was confused whenever his 
name was mentioned, never speaking it or referring to 
him yourself ; you were overcome at sight of him when 
you encountered him again after we had gone to live 
in the city. How could I help but believe that it was 
he you had meant, when you wrote that you loved 
another. Then, too, when you were so determined to 
go abroad, he sailed on the same boat with you.” 

“ You did not believe ” Irene began. 

“ No, no ; I know what you would say. No, I never 
doubted you. I thought only that you hated me and 
wanted to be near him, and I made you free that you 
might be happier. Heavens, what a fool I have been ! 
And I never dreamed that you cared anything for me. 
Oh, to think of the time that has been wasted in doubt ! 
Tell me that it is not yet too late to retrieve the past.” 

She never spoke a word, but her eyes answered him ; 
he put his arms about her, drawing her to liim in 
loving embrace, and both were comforted in each other’s 
love at last. 

Need I tell you that this meeting had been pre- 
arranged by the two friends who had always contended 
that they owed their own happy union to Irene and 
Frank. It had only required a telegram of a few 
words, — “ Come, and bring J une ; have news of Irene.” 


312 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


That was all that had been said, but it was enough ; 
and they both came at once, arriving in the morning, as 
they were expected, instead of in the evening. Need 
I tell you how the minister, while his wife was driving 
with Irene, had met and poured into his friend’s ears 
the story of a loving, lonely, and suffering heart just 
as it had been confided to his wife, and by her to him ? 
Need I tell you how, when Frank had learned of the 
love that had been wasting all these years, and of how 
he had misunderstood Irene, he could scarcely wait 
until he should see her again and entreat her forgiveness 
and revel in the wealth of affection that had been shut 
up in both hearts so long ? No ; I think I needed not 
to have told all this, you must already have guessed it. 

They lingered there in the parlor undisturbed for 
some time, there was so much for both to explain and 
talk over, for Irene had insisted on relating the part 
the Count Beaurynski had taken in her life from the 
beginning of her acquaintance with him until the end, 
and Frank wanted to tell her how he had missed her 
all the years they had been separated, and how he never 
ceased to hope for her return, and how Mr. Blaisdell 
had died soon after she had gone away, and made him 
rich by bequeathing to him his share of the stock in 
the company of which he had been president. And 
so much more there was to tell that he had not time 
to speak of because June, impatient to see her sister 
again, could wait no longer and burst in upon them 
unexpectedly in the midst of their converse. What a 
grand reunion it was, to be sure ! such a flood of happi- 
ness it seemed to Irene, that she almost felt repaid for 
the weary years of waiting. 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


313 


The saddest part of this meeting — for there is always 
a sad side to every great happiness — was the quiet 
marriage ceremony that took place in the little parlors 
of home — their old home — that same evening, when 
Irene and Frank were again united for life; recalling, 
as it did, so vividly another ceremony just as quiet in 
which the same persons took active part. 

God bless and make you both happy for the rest 
of your days,^’ said the minister, fervently, as he this 
second time pronounced them man and wife. 

And you, too, my friend ; may he bless you and 
yours as you so richly deserve,’^ said Frank, in reply. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

And what of all the rest ? I hear you ask, as I near 
the close of my story. Tell me what became of June, 
Aunt Mollie, Celia Frothingham, Mr. AVells, Minnie 
Barnes, Robert Bostwick, and the Count Beaurynski. 
And it is my intention to tell you now, for you are 
liable to meet one or all of them some time, as they are 
all still living while I write, and you might be pleased 
to recognize them. 

Mrs. Bostwick — or Mrs. Gubenhauser, as she was 
then called — was travelling in Europe at the time of 
John Patton’s death ; and June, finding herself left 
alone, homeless and penniless, with no way of pro- 
viding her own support, and no one to whom she 
could look for assistance of any kind, was in the depths 
o 27 


314 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


of despair, when Frank Raynor, who had learned of 
her loss and consequent condition through Marshall 
Bird, came to Newbridge, and offered her a home with 
his mother and himself until her aunt should return. 
And June, after some urging, accepted; for, not- 
withstanding he had divorced her sister, the sisterly 
affection she had always felt for him was living in her 
heart yet, — and, besides, there seemed left to her no 
other choice than to accept his generous invitation. So 
she had returned with him to the city, and had re- 
mained with him ever since. When her aunt returned 
from abroad, and had sent for her to come and make 
her home with her, June had betrayed such reluctance 
that Frank said to her, — 

June, if you prefer to go with your aiiiil;, I have no 
desire or right to prevent your doing so ; only I wish to 
say to you first, in order that you may be better able to 
follow your own inclinations, that nothing gives me 
more pleasure now than to have your bright face about 
my house. You are welcome here, and more than 
welcome. It pains me to think of having you live else- 
where. I am able to provide for you bountifully, and 
am well repaid in having your cheering presence in my 
home to lighten my dull hours. Your aunt is a woman 
of the world, who thinks of nothing but the world and 
what it does and says. I have never been able to dis- 
cover that she possessed a heart ; therefore, I think she 
can never know such warm affection for you as is felt 
by my mother and myself. Besides, June,’^ and his 
voice sank very low, she was the first person to turn 
from your sister after she went away, condemning lier 
in the world of society wherever her name was spoken, 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


315 


when she should have defended her or kept silent. Go 
with her if you prefer, only I long to have you still 
abide with me.’^ And June had put her arms about 
his neck and begged to remain with him. 

She had never been allowed to answer Irene’s letter, 
or even to speak her name in her father’s presence, so 
severely prejudiced against her had he become on hear- 
ing the malicious gossip that was talked about her. It 
never occurred to him that the stories might not be 
true. His mind and body had both grown so weak 
from constant brooding over the loss of his wife that 
he had become incapable of proper reasoning. He 
looked upon that sarcastic letter she had written him in 
anger as conclusive evidence of her depravity, and had 
never answered it. 

‘‘ She has gone to the bad,” he would say to June. 

Your mother always said no good would come of the 
marriage, — and she was right; your mother was always 
right. And I don’t wish you to write to her nor to 
have her writing to you, for she’ll be trying to coax 
you away from me after awhile, — and you are all I 
have left now.” And June, though she ceased to write 
and to hear from Irene, had not ceased to think of her. 
She wanted to tell her of her father’s death, only she 
did not know where a letter would reach her, her 
father having destroyed all the letters containing her 
address. Some time after she had taken up her abode 
with Frank, however, she ventured to ask him if 
he knew anything of Irene’s whereabouts, and amazed 
at learning that there had been no communication 
between the sisters for years, he supplied her with the 
address Irene had given him at parting to Mr. Wells’s 


316 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


former studio in Paris. He himself had lost track of 
her, though he had kept track of the Count Beaurynski ; 
and, knowing him to be still unmarried, believed that 
Irene had been forsaken by him, and had made him- 
self almost sick at times by imagining her heart-broken 
and friendless — perhaps in want — in a strange land. 
These thoughts made him all the more anxious to keep 
June near him, that, through her, he might learn of 
Irene, and, perhaps, be permitted to see and talk 
with her, and even be of assistance to her when she 
came back ; for he believed she was certain to return 
some time to see her sister. Doubtless, she would 
return as soon as she learned of her father’s death; and, 
perhaps — who could tell ? — perhaps she might learn to 
love him after the dreary years of separation, having 
suffered so much away from him. So he had reasoned; 
and all these hopes took wing when he learned that 
June — even June — knew nothing more than he did 
of her sister. June wrote a long letter at once to the 
address Frank had given her, but it was never 
answered, not having been received by Irene. 

It was a pity that it went astray, it carried such a 
wealth of love in it for the absent one, just pining 
away for the want of such a letter. But the love was 
there in June’s heart, still waiting to outpour itself 
when Irene should return to her, and she always 
expected her to come back some day. She lives yet 
with Frank and Irene in New York, and a happier 
family does not exist in the great city. 

Mrs. Bostwick still flits about in society there, gos- 
siping and chattering away as gayly as ever, although 
traces of age and care have made their appearance on 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


317 


her countenance. You would hardly believe that she 
was other than contented always ; but I have heard it 
whispered by some, who know her intimately, that her 
second marriage is not an agreeable one, that the coarse, 
red-faced German whom she wedded has neither the 
refinement nor the devotion that characterized her 
former husband, and little to recommend him to society 
save his money. But he is seen everywhere with her. 
And, though they say she is not as popular as she once 
was, because of her husband they cannot refuse to 
receive her; and then the whole world does not 
know that he drinks beer until he is stupid every night 
before going to bed. 

Robert Bostwick turned away from Irene the day 
she chided him on the beach at Long Branch, and went 
back to the city, wLere he remained all through the 
summer, in a sort of self-imposed punishment for his 
unmanly conduct, and two years later was attracted 
by a pretty face that reminded him of Irene’s. The 
station of the young woman who possessed it was 
humble, and her people were poor, yet he pushed him- 
self into her home and heart, won her love and married 
her. His mother was wild with anger — ^the first time 
she was ever known to betray passion or emotion of 
any kind — when she heard of this alliance; but she 
had a weakness for a pretty face in a woman, and when 
she afterwards saw this one, she admired her, kissed 
her on both cheeks, forgave her son, and consoled her- 
self by saying, — “ he might have done worse.” 

Minnie Barnes is smiling yet. She lives with her 
people at Newbridge, and is still unmarried. She 
dresses daintily and prettily, too young though, some 
27 * 


318 


MISTAKEN PATHS, 


have thought, for her years ; her manners are propriety 
itself, and she talks with such exact articulation and 
nicety of phrasing as to become wearisome to a listener, 
and still answers every suggestion you make to her, as 
formerly, Oh, yes/^ Oh,” away up in the clouds, 
and yes” seeking the depths of the earth, all the time 
smiling while seeming to ponder over what you have 
been saying. Her father’s frequent disgraceful escapades 
are generally known and much commented on among 
Newbridge people ; perhaps that may be the reason she 
herself has never advanced in society. She has had 
no intimate associate since Irene, and every one speaks 
of her always as old Jim Barnes’s daughter ;” yet she 
smiles all the while, and seems never to heed the re- 
proach. She drives out occasionally in the family 
phaeton ^vith her mother, who is known only by sight 
to but few. I caught sight of them once as they passed 
me, and was deeply impressed with the appearance of 
Mrs. Barnes ; she had such a delicate, sad little face, 
with great dark circles under her eyes, which peered out 
from underneath one of her daughter’s hats which she 
wore. I think she has no hat of her own, having so 
little need for one, perhaps. I thought, as I saw her 
that time, that there are hopes that die and are buried 
in the human breast as loved friends are buried in a 
church-yard, — no towering monument of marble or 
granite marks where they lie; but there are surer, 
plainer signs imprinted in the living countenance of 
the one who carries such a tomb locked up within the 
breast that are just as readily discerned by the world in 
passing by. In such striking contrast to hers was the 
radiant and smiling countenance of her daughter that I 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


319 


recalled, realizing their fitness, some lines I once read 
from The Autocrat at the Breakfast Table” respecting 
this “ terrible smile” as follows : There are persons that 
no sooner come in sight of you than they begin to smile. 
It is evident that the consciousness of some imbecility 
or other is at the bottom of this extraordinary ex- 
pression. I don’t think, however, that these persons 
are commonly fools. I have known a number, and all of 
them were intelligent. I think nothing conveys the idea 
of under-breeding nK)re than this self-betraying smile. 
The professor says there is a little fleshy slip called 
Santorini’s laughing muscle. I would have it cut out 
of my face, if I were born with one of these constitu- 
tional grins upon it. It may be that they are born 
with these looks, as people are with more generally re- 
cognized deformities ; but I would rather meet three 
scowlers than one of these smilers.” 

“ I must stop her and tell her that I know of the 
cruel slander she has talked of me,” said Irene to her 
husband, as they were about to meet this friend of her 
youth one day on the street. 

“ I would spare her that infliction, if I were you,” 
he answered her. I think she covers enough of suf- 
fering already underneath that mask of hers.” And 
she had been content with passing her by without sign 
of recognition. 

The Count Beaurynski is travelling about Europe, 
treasuring in his heart the remembrance of a fair young 
face, on whose owner he has silently and hopelessly 
lavished all the affection he is capable of feeling. 

I saw a beautiful flower like none I had ever seen 
before, growing by the wayside. I longed to gather it 


320 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


to my bosom, and hold it there, so much I admired 
and loved it ; but it was grafted on a homely stem, — I 
would not stoop to pluck it, and bruised it with my 
foot instead in passing. I have since travelled around 
the world, and gazed on many of the choicest, rarest, 
and most exquisite blossoms that have bloomed in 
many countries, but have seen nothing to compare with 
that one. I would now return, take up the wounded 
flower, and heal it with much cherishing if I might, 
but it is too late ; another has dDne all that, and its 
fragrance and beauty are all for him alone,” so did he 
answer his mother the last time she had besought him 
to marry ; and with a gentle consideration for his sor- 
row, she never spoke again to him on the subject. 

Mr. Wells remains abroad, still painting, and still 
in highest favor with all patrons of art. He often 
spealcs with pride and kind remembrance of the success 
of his only pupil, Norma.” 

Celia Froth ingham is now in Paris with her hus- 
band ; very happy, as she deserves to be. She received 
a letter from Irene not long since ; it was postmarked 
New York, and while not very long, brought in its 
perusal much comfort and pleasure to her. It read, — 

‘^My dear, kind, much-loved friend,— Rejoice with 
me ! I have found the happiness tliat my soul lias 
been hungering and thirsting after so long. He who 
was before my husband is again united with me 
in the bonds of marriage, strengthened now by truest 
love, and perfect understanding of each other. I know 
you will be able to realize something of my happiness 
in your own present experience; only mine must be 
even greater than yours, springing up, as it did, out of 


MISTAKEN PATHS. 


321 


an almost lifeless hope. I will tell you how it came 
about some time when we meet. I am more grateful 
to you than I am able to say, for your kindness to me 
during the time I was with you. May your friends be 
as considerate and faithful to you as you have been 
to me. May you find in your husband and home the 
same comfort and joy that I now experience in mine. 
My husband joins with me in thanking you for your 
tender and sisterly regard during the years of our close 
companionship. 

Your loving and devoted friend, 

“ Irene.” 


THE END. 


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A LIST OK BOOKS 

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“This is a charming love-story, interesting alike to all, and sustains a 
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“ A graphic and very interesting anonymous story of a young journal- 
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doubt. The other characters will be readily recognized as conspicuous 
in New York society. The story reveals the inside workings of some of 
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0ne of the I^uanes. 

BY 

AI^ICH KI^G HAMII^XON. 

12mo. Extra cloth. $1.25. 


“ Bonny Duane, the centre of interest, is a delightful young lady, 
but seems more Philadelphian than of New York in her beliefs and 
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in beauty and in disposition. But the merit of the book lies not in 
characters which are rather conventional, but in the scenes and the 
swift movement of a striking plot. The author knows how to tell a 
story ." — Boston yournal. 

“This clever story of an artillery post is based upon a dramatic 
incident of military life. A keen eye for the humorous side, and an 
adequate appreciation of dramatic effects, make it decidedly agree- 
able reading ." — Philadelphia Ledger. 

“ An interesting novel of life in the garrison and navy-yard circles 
of Pensacola, and ends as all good novels should ." — New York Home 
Journal. 

“This is a tale of Florida life, full of adventure and thrilling with 
interest. It is written in Mrs. Hamilton’s best style, and deals with 
the social customs of military life, varied by the adventures incident 
to the camp. There are interwoven with the thread of the story 
many bits of description of the scenery of the country where the plot 
is laid ." — Baltimore Herald. 

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those who select it for reading at the sea-side or mountain this 
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“ It is an intensely interesting book, as when did a story of army 
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few are more entertaining ." — Boston Globe. 

“Eminently readable and entertaining .’’ — Charleston News and 
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ON BOTH SIDES. 

By Miss Fanny Courtenay Baylor. 

Containing " The Perfect Treasure” and “ On This Side,” the whole forming a complete stoij. 
12ino. Extra cloth. $1.25. 


“No such faithful, candid, kindly, brilliant, and incisive presentation of 
English and American types has before been achieved. The >vit of the 
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— New York Tribune. 

“ For a number of months past the readers of Lippincott’ s Magazine have 
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ties, in fact, are so delicately and humorously satirized, that it is a truly 
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breeding in manners and customs pertaining to each of the two peoples, and 
the thorough good understanding of the genuine people in the story, are the 
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delphia Ledger. 

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lightful humor. It is not fun, but intelligent wit; it is not mere comicality, 
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of British and of American nature and training, while it is so perfectly free 
from anything like ridicule, that the victims would be the first to smile.”— 
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“A BRILLIANT PICTURE OF GARRISON LIFE.” 

MARION’S FAITH. 

By Captain CHARLES KING, U.S.A., 

Author of “ The Colonel’s Daughter," 

, " Kitty’s Conquest," etc. 


i2mo. Extra cloth $1.25 

" Captain King has done what the many admirers of his charming 
first story, ‘ The Colonel s Daughter,’ hoped he would do, — he has written 
another novel of American army life. The present is in some sort a 
continuation of the former, many of the characters of the first story re- 
appearing in the pages of this volume. The scenes of the story are laid 
in the frontier country of the West, and fights with the Cheyenne Indians 
afford sufficiently stirring incidents. The same bright, sparkling style 
and easy manner which rendered ‘ The Colonel’s Daughter’ and ‘ Kitty’s 
Conquest’ so popular and so delightful, characterize the present volume. 
It is replete with spirited, interesting, humorous, and pathetic pictures of 
soldier life on the frontier, and wjll be received with a warm welcome, 
not only by the. large circle of readers of the author’s previous works, 
but by aU who delight in an excellent story charmingly told .” — Chicago 
livening yournal. 

" The author of this novel is a gallant soldier, now on the retired list 
by reason of wounds received in the line of duty. The favor with which 
his books have been received proves that he can write as well as fight. 

‘ Marion’s Faith’ is a very pleasing story, with a strong flavor of love and 
shoulder-straps, and military life, and cannot but charm the reader.” — 
Naiion xl Tribune, Washington, D. C. 

" Captain King has caught the true spirit of the American novel, for 
he has endowed his work fuily and freely with the dash, vigor, breeziness, 
bravery, tenderness, and truth which are recognized throughout the 
world as our national characteristics. Moreover, he is letting in a flood 
of light upon the hidden details of army life in our frontier garrisons and 
amid the hills of the Indian country. He is giving the public a bit of 
insight into the career of a United States soldier, and abundantly de- 
monstrating that the Cu.sters and Mileses and Crooks of to day are not 
mere hired men, but soldiers as patriotic, unselfish, and daring as any 
of those who went down with the guns in the great civil strife. Captain 
King’s narrative work is singularly fascinating.” — St. Louis Republican. 

‘‘ As descriptions of life at an army post, and of the vicissitudes, trials, 
and heroisms of army life on the plains, in what are called ‘ times of 
peace,’ the two novels of Captain King are worthy of a high and per- 
manent place in American literature. T hey will hereafter take rank with 
Cooper’s novels as distinctively American works of fiction .” — Army and 
Navy Register, Washington, D. C. 


PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 


KITTY’S CONQUEST. 

By CAPT. CHARI^ES KIXG, U.S.A., 

Author of “The Colonel’s Daughter,” “Marion’s Faith,” eto> 

16mo. Extra Cloth. $1.00. 


** A highly entertaining love story, the scene of which is laid in the Soutk 
seven years after the war ." — New York Herald. 

** Capt. King has given us another delightful story of American life. The 
reputation of the author will by no means suffer through his second venture. 
We can heartily commend the story to all lovers of the American novel."— 
Washington Capital. 

" Will take rank with its gifted author’s vivid romance, ' The Colonel’s 
Daughter,' and should become as popular. Capt. King writes fluently and 
felicitously, and in the novel under review there is not a tiresome page. Every- 
thing is graphic, telling, and interesting. The plot is of particular excellence." 
— Philadelphia Evening Call. 

“ * Kitty’s Conquest,’ a charming little story of love and adventure, by 
Charles King, U.S.A. The plot is laid in the South during the reconstruction 
period following the late war. The book is written in a most attractive style, 
and abounds in bright passages. The characters are drawn in a very pleasing 
manner, and the plot is handled very successfully throughout. It is altogether 
a pleasing addition to the library of modern fiction ." — Boston Post. 

" A bright, original, captivating story. The scene is laid in the South some 
twelve years ago. It is full of life from the word * go 1’ and maintains its inter- 
est uninterruptedly to the end. The varying fortunes through which the hero 
pursues his ‘ military love-making’ are grapWcally depicted, and a spice of dan- 
gerous adventure makes the story all the more readable ." — New York School 
journal. 

"A bright and vivaciously-told story, whose incidents, largely founded upon 
fact, occurred some twelve years ago. The scene, opening in Alabama, is soon 
transferred to New Orleans, where the interest mainly centres, revolving round 
the troublous days when Kellogg and McEnery were de facto and de jure 
claimants of supreme power in Louisiana, when the air was filled with notes of 
warlike preparation and the tread of armed men. Though the heroes are, for 
the most part. United States officers, there is yet nothing but kindly courtesy 
and generous good-will in the tone of the story, and its delineations of Southern 
character and life, of Southern scenes, and the circumstances and conditions of 
the time. The author is Charles King, himself a United States soldier, whose 
story of * The Colonel's Daughter' has been well received .”— Orleans 
Times-Democrat. 


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AURORA. 

A KOVEI^. 

By Mary Agnes Tincker, author of “ The Jewel in the 

Lotus,” etc. 

Illustrated. 12nio. Extra cloth. $1.25, 


** It is a story so delicately wrought, so artistically perfect, that one reads it 
with a delight that deepens into fervor and enthusiasm. It is a story of Italian 
life, — of love, of intrigue, of despair, of aspiration. It is full of dramatic 
situations, and of subtle, pervasive power." — Boston EveniTtg Traveller. 

“ * Aurora,’ by Mary Agnes Tincker, is a novel of extraordinary power and 
interest, in which the author of ‘ Signor Monaldini’s Niece’ has even surpassed 
the high mark made in that remarkable story. Its plot is original ; its varieties 
of character are portrayed with consummate skill; the different scenes — in 
Granada, in Sassoviso, at Ischia, and in Venice — are like pictures in vivid- 
ness ; indeed, the entire presentation is that of imagination to imagination." 
— Hartford Courant. 

" The whole book is very entertaining, and there are one or two English 
characters in whom the reader will be interested." — London Academy. 

" Miss Tincker’s stories of Italian life invariably possess points of high 
charm, are eloquent in description, and are pervaded by a poetic ardor, which 
she puts into striking relief by offering in contrast vivid and realistic pictures 
of commonplace existence. In ‘Aurora’ there are scandals, falsehoods, in- 
trigues, all the machinations of powerful and unscrupulous workers in evil, 
which finally meet their punishment and their remedy in the catastrophe of 
the earthquake at Casamicciola. This culmination of the story is admirably 
given, and is full of powerful and artistic effects." — Philadelphia American. 

‘‘ Everything which Miss Tincker writes bears the stamp of a refined mind, 
a poetic temperament, and unmistakable genius. The story glows with 
Southern warmth and sparkles with good things, and is very complete in 
every way." — London Whitehall Review. 

‘‘Possesses all the charms which characterized her excellent novel, ‘The 
Jewel in the Lotus.' In some respects it is a better written story than the 
work just named, and it falls below it in nothing. There is a genuine feeling 
for nature and poetry throughout the book, and its freshness and delicacy are 
very pleasant." — New York Tribune. 


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ATALnABLE#HANDT HEFERENCE lIBBABY 



'TJie Reader’s Handbook 

OF FACTS, CHARACTERS, PLOTS, AND REFERENCES. 

New Dictionary of* Quotations 

FROM THE GREEK, LATIN, AND MODERN LANGUAGES. 

Words, Facts, and Flirases. 

A DICTIONARY OF CURIOUS, QUAINT, AND OUT-OF-THE. 

WAY MATTERS. 

Worcester’s Conipreliensive Dictionary. 

CONTAINING PRINCIPLES OF PRONUNCIATION, RULES OF 
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Rogfet’s TTIiesaurus. 

A TREASURY OF ENGLISH WORDS. 

Five Volumes. Half Morocco, In cloth box. $12. CO. 



wisTEie/’s 

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T he merit of Mrs. Wister’s translations from German fiction is well 
known to American readers. Her literary taste is exceedingly 
good, and she always selects good materials. Indeed, the name 
of Mrs. Wister has come to be a guarantee not only of good translation, 
but of good original work, as she seems to undertake no novel that has 
not some striking merit in plot or execution. 

12mo. Extra cloth. $1.50 each. 


A Penniless Girl. 
Quicksands. 

Banned and Blessed. 

A ^oble :Xanie. 

From Hand to Hand. 
Severa. 

TPlie Ficliliofs. 

A New Race. 

Castle Holienwald. 
Harj^aretlie. 

'Too Ricli. 

A Family Feud. 

Xlie Green Gate. 

Only a Girl. 

Why Bid He Not Bie? 
Hulda. 

E. MARLITT'S NOVELS. 

TThe Bailiff’s Maid. 

In the Schillin^scourt. 

At the Councillor’s. 

Xhe Second Wife. 

Xhe Old Mam’selle’s Secret. 
Gold Hlsie. 

Countess Gisela. 

C,ittle Moorland Princess. 


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The ** Duchess” is entitled to rank among women-writers to the 
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racy Irish wit and sprightliness which makes everything this author 
writes entertaining. 


“ O TTender Molores.” 

A Maiden All Korlorn. 
In Durance Vile. 

Doris. 

Rossmoyne. 

l^oys, Cord Berresford< 

Tortia. 


Mrs. Geoffrey. 

Taitli and Cnfaitli. 
Beauty’s Daus:liters. 
Airy Tairy Cilian. 
Molly Bawu. 
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